


As We Know It

by Unstoppablei



Series: The End of the World as We Know It [4]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angels are Dicks, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Drinking, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Explicit Sex, Not Canon Compliant, Parental Bobby Singer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 05:26:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 57,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4734275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unstoppablei/pseuds/Unstoppablei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heaven at war. Mistaken identities. Daddy issues. Sacrifices. Pie. God. The Anti-Christ. Pervy angels. A demon who sauntered vaguely downwards. Between seasons 5 and 6, the world nearly ended. Again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <em> Original season, third in a series </em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: In Which We Are Introduced To Beth

**Author's Note:**

> Note #1: This is the third book in my _It's The End_ 'verse . If you haven't already, please read _It's The End_ and _Of The World_ , which follow seasons 4 and 5, respectively, or a lot of stuff won't make sense. _As We Know It_ does not follow a season; it happens after the events of _Of The World_ and is in no way tied to Season 6. Also, the beginning of this book is a bit trippy, and bounces around through time, so hold on! It'll all make sense eventually.
> 
> Note #2: Eli is pronounced Ee-lye. Feedback is welcomed.

 

**Prologue: In Which We Are Introduced To Beth**  

 

Elizabeth Graham woke up to the sound of her alarm ringing shrilly.

"God damnit," she moaned, swinging her arm over and blindly hitting the desk, searching for the button. "Shut up!"

Finally her hand connected to the machine and the beeping stopped. Beth groaned, burying her face in her pillow, her yellow hair splayed like a halo. She had been having the best dream; it was hazy now, and fading fast, but she remembered it had fights and action and sexy men. All of the things her life was currently lacking.

Five minutes had passed. The alarm blared again and she sat up, pushing hair out of her eyes and rubbing them tiredly. When she stood her whole body ached like she had been in a fight, and she stumbled into the bathroom, stretching and yawning.

The face that stared back at her from the mirror was puffy from sleep, the freckles washed out from a long winter with no sun, green eyes exhausted, lips chapped and hair a knotted mane of blonde that stretched down to her shoulder blades. She brushed her teeth blearily, eyeing her body critically in the glass. She needed to get to the gym more often, her stomach was getting soft, her curves a little out-of-control.

From the kitchen, her coffee beeped. She rinsed her mouth and ran into the bedroom, shrugging on a pair of jeans and a cute top. She brushed her hair while drinking her first cup, wincing at the beginning as the coffee clashed with the toothpaste taste still in her mouth. Makeup was applied with the second cup, cover-up for the circles under her eyes, blush to make her pale skin less wan. Boots and a warm, brightly-patterned scarf were put on while gulping a third cup, and then she grabbed her bag and was out the door.

_My life as a graduate student,_ she thought, rolling her eyes as she got on her bicycle in the freezing weather and began to pedal. _Can't believe I actually missed this. I traveled the world and I actually missed books and papers and too little sleep. What a nerd._

She pulled to a stop in front of a Starbucks and locked her bike hurriedly, running inside with freezing fingers and a dripping nose. Lucy spotted her from her place by the large electric fireplace and waved.

"She arrives! I got us the good spot!" Lucy yelled, pointing to the couch she had commandeered. Beth beamed and dropped her bag by her friend's feet, holding her hands to the warmth of the fire.

"God bless you, Lucy Wong," she said, sighing in pleasure as feeling tingled back into her fingers. "All I need is some coffee…"

"Some _more_ coffee," Lucy amended, tucking her short black hair behind her ears. She peered at her frazzled friend shrewdly; her eyes were slanted and a deep, delicate blue, the color inherited from her Dutch mother and made exotic by her darker skin and flat nose. "Don't pretend you haven't had at least two cups already."

"Okay, some _more_ coffee," Beth agreed. "And we'll be ready to commence cramming. We've got what, two hours before the test?"

"Less if you don't move your ass," Lucy said, nudging her away from the fireplace with her foot. Beth laughed and kissed the top of her friend's head affectionately.

"We've been studying all week, Luc, we'll be _fine_. I'll be right back with my mochachino."

"Don't call me Luc, or I'll call you Eli," Lucy warned. Beth shuddered.

"Ew, deal. You know only my parents call me that."

"Parents and Tom," Lucy sing-songed, and Beth stuck a finger in her face pointedly.

"Tom has known me since I used to run naked in his kiddie pool. He is my best friend. He has a right."

"Bet he'd like to recreate that pool moment sometime soon," Lucy said, giggling. Beth whacked her upside the head.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response, bitch."

"Whore."

"I'm getting coffee," Beth said, laughing, and moved to the line.

Across the street stood two men, both staring through the coffee shop windows at the blonde who was currently plopping down on the couch with a giant coffee in one hand and pulling a laptop from her bag with the other. One of the men took out a phone and hit his speed dial.

The phone rang twice before it clicked. The man exhaled, his breath steaming the air. "Yeah, hey, it's me. We found her."

 


	2. In Which Beth Is Macked On Twice In One Day

 

 

Beth took a bite of her chocolate-chip muffin and moaned. "Carbs," she mumbled through a mouth-full of food. "Carbs will be the death of me."

"Focus," Lucy said, frowning at her flash cards. "Now, okay, if you take a bell-curve flow chart…"

"Eli," snapped an unfamiliar voice. Beth glanced up at the two men who had just entered the coffee shop and were walking toward her. They were both quite handsome, in a tense, brooding kind of way: the taller with brown hair that kept falling into his soft eyes and the shorter with a leather jacket, carefully spiked hair, and a scowl on his almost too-pretty mouth. That was the one who had spoken, the leather-jacket one, and he stood before her now with crossed arms.

"Um, hello?" Beth asked, sharing a look with Lucy, who was practically drooling at the men in front of them. She placed her laptop on the squat table and stood, smiling hesitantly. "Can I…"

"Where the hell have you been?" Leather-jacket demanded hotly, stepping too close and looking like he was about to grab her shoulders and shake her. "It's been months, Eli, _months_. Three _months_. Shit is crazy, the world is going to hell, we've been searching high and low, and where have you been? In fucking _Chicago._ Going to _grad school_. Have you lost your mind? What the fuck?"

There was a long pause in which both girls stared at the wild-eyed man in front of them. Finally, Lucy cleared her throat.

"Uh, Beth, do you….know these guys?"

Beth shook herself out of her daze and grinned weakly at the man. "Hi, uh, yeah, so… I don't know who you are, I think you have the wrong girl, Mister. So if you could please stop screaming in my face, I would…appreciate it."

The man stared at her blankly. "What the fuck are you _on_ , Eli?" he asked, grabbing her arm. "This isn't funny."

"Let go of me!" she snapped, pulling her arm back. "Look, I don't know who you are, if this is a joke or one of those hidden camera improve group things, or if you are seriously confused and _insane_ , but you touch me again and I'm calling the cops."

"Eli, what the hell…" the man started, but the taller one stepped forward.

"I think she's telling the truth, Dean," he said softly. "I think she really doesn't know who we are."

"But how is that possible?" Dean hissed, just as the bell above the door tinkled and a third man walked into the coffee shop, looking harassed.

"Elijah!" he exclaimed, catching her eye and striding forward, his trench coat flapping behind him. Beth had a brief moment of appreciation for his smokin' body and beautiful blue eyes before he closed the distance between them and pulled her into his arms, pressing his mouth forcefully to hers.

Lucy's jaw dropped. Beth's eyes became comically wide as she struggled with the logical desire to pull away and the physical desire to keep kissing this incredibly attractive man who smelled amazing and whose mouth was beautiful and soft and oddly familiar…

He pulled away before she could make a decision, pressing his forehead to hers with familiarity. "Where have you been?" he rasped softly. "I've been searching for you."

"Uh, Cas…" the as-of-yet-unnamed tall man started, right as Beth regained her senses and pushed away.

"Aha ha ha…" she laughed nervously. "Um, okay, wow, so, you're a great kisser and all, so, ah, thank you? I guess? But…yeah. I'm sorry to break it to you, all of you, but I don't know what the hell is going on. My name is Elizabeth, not Elijah, and I've never seen any of you before in my life."

The man who had kissed her – Cas, apparently – gripped her arm urgently. "Eli, what are you saying?"

"Okay, so…I've gotta get to class," Beth babbled, jerking her arm out of his grasp and gathering her bag and laptop. "I hope you find who you're looking for, and…yeah. Lucy, you coming?"

"Oh! Yeah, of course." Lucy pulled her eyes away from the trio of men and jumped to her feet, following the frazzled blonde out the door. Cas stepped forward as if to follow them, but Dean grabbed his shoulder.

"Let her go. She doesn't know us."

"How is that possible?" Castiel asked, staring after her. "How can she not know who she is?"

"Good question," Sam said darkly.

"I've got a better one." Dean released the angel's shoulder and stepped back, his eyes narrowed. "How do we get her back before everything goes to hell?"

* * *

"Tough day?"

Beth accepted the beer he was holding out to her gratefully. "Before I even enter the door he has a beer ready," she teased, kicking off her boots and unwinding her scarf. "Now that's friendship. And how did you know?"

"You had that big exam today, right?" he asked, helping her with her coat. "Exam of the century, you called it. How'd it go?"

"Oh, fine," she said casually. "Now I just need a Star Wars marathon to clear all of that useless information out of my head. Pizza?"

"Getting cold on the table. You're late, Blondie."

"Like you're so bloody punctual, Tom."

"Stop pretending that you're British."

"Stop pretending that you have a pair."

"Ouch," he said, hand on his heart. "Heartless bitch."

She beamed at him and dropped onto the couch. "C'mon, nerd, start the movie and I'll tell you about the freakish day I've had."

Tom smiled and sat down next to her, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He was cute in a dorky sort of way, with dimples and a big smile, brown eyes large and expressive, a little too thin, like a long-necked bird. Really, he was just her type, but Beth had known him for so long, and he was so close to her that it felt weird to think of him in any other way than her best friend.

The familiar words began to scroll across the screen: _A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away…_

"So what happened today that was so freakish?" he asked, opening the pizza boxes and popping a slice of pepperoni into his mouth. Beth sighed and grabbed her own slice, plopping it gooily onto a paper plate.

"Okay, so I'm studying with Lucy in the Starbucks like we always do, and I'm minding my own business, when suddenly these two men burst in to the place and start harassing me, like, physically. This guy grabbed my arm and yelled in my face, acting like I was someone else. I don't know if it was a joke, or if they were crazy, or what, but they wouldn't quit…" She trailed off. Tom's eyes were narrowed as if deep in thought, his fingers clenching his knees until the knuckles were white. "Tom? Is everything okay?"

He turned to her and attempted a smile, but it came out false. "Fine. So what happened then?"

Beth eyed him suspiciously but let it drop. "So that's when it gets weird. A third guy comes in, and let me tell you, he was _hot_. Sorry to be girly on you, but _damn_. He calls me some weird name, Ellis? No, Elijah, that was it. I knew it was something biblical. And then, out of nowhere, he kisses me."

"He kissed you?" Tom asked quietly. "That's harassment, you know. You could press charges."

"Well I wasn't exactly complaining…" she said, smiling a little. Tom looked at her stonily. "Oh come on, it was a joke. I don't even know who the guy is. I got out of there as fast as I could; the whole thing was probably some crazy stunt for like a theater 101 class."

Tom looked at her oddly, his head tilted to the side in an unfamiliar manner. "So there wasn't anything…familiar, about these guys?" he asked. Beth paused, her eyes glazing over as she thought back on it.

"You know, there _was_ something about them. Maybe I've seen them around campus or something." She paused. "I think…" She laughed a little, embarrassed. "It sounds crazy, but I think I've _dreamt_ about them. Weird, right?"

"It doesn't sound weird at all." Tom put his pizza down and turned to her, taking her plate and placing it next to his on the table. He reached out, resting his warm fingers on her temples.

"What are you doing?" she asked, staring into his brown eyes. He grinned at her.

"You're stressed. Probably have a headache, right? This will help." He began to massage lightly. She closed her eyes, Star Wars still going on in the background. "How does that feel?"

"Mmm, nice," she said, relaxing her shoulders. He nodded.

"Good."

Something sparked against her skin and she jumped back. "What was that?"

He looked at her innocently. "Nothing," he said. "Hey, so did anything weird happen to you today?"

Beth frowned at him. "You mean besides my giant monster of an exam? No, why?"

"No reason. Any weird dreams lately?"

Beth raised her eyebrows. "Uh, no, Dr. Freud. You know I never remember my dreams. What is up with you tonight?"

"Nothing," he said, then hesitated before reaching forward and brushing hair from her eyes. "You just…seemed stressed out lately, that's all."

"Exams, Christmas season, a lot to be stressed out about," she said softly. "No need to worry."

"I do worry about you, Eli," he said earnestly. His hand stayed where it was, fingers lightly touching the delicate skin near her ear. "I worry something's going to happen, that someone's going to come and take you away from me."

"I'm not going anywhere, Tom," she said, blushing a little under his intense stare. He nodded.

"I know."

Then he kissed her.

Beth was so shocked that she leaned back, but he just leaned with her, until she was pressed against the armrest of the couch. She knew that he had a thing for her but she never thought he would act on it; she thought that he felt how she did, that maybe there could be something more but it wasn't worth risking the friendship to find out. But he was strange tonight; his words, usually so joking, were serious, and there was an aura of nervousness about him that was abnormal. His lips against hers were unfamiliar, insistent, and she wasn't sure if she liked it or not. After a moment she pushed him away, lightly enough that it wasn't embarrassing for him, and sat up, blushing furiously.

"We should, ah, eat the pizza before it gets cold," she stuttered, and he nodded, backing up to his side of the couch without another word. They watched the movie in silence.

Outside the fourth-story apartment, crouched on the fire escape, Castiel watched everything through narrowed eyes.

 


	3. In Which The Scooby Gang Hides In Better Homes and Gardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _  
> **Three Months Ago...**  
>  _

Bobby was making eggs when he heard the thump.

It came from the hallway and sounded like something heavy falling, hard, onto the old wood floor. He grabbed his gun and turned off the stove, edging out of the kitchen warily. There was a rustling sound, and a soft moan. After a few steps he could see a bloody foot outlined by the doorway, then a few more steps to see bloody calves, arms, shoulders, blonde hair streaked with red and covered in feathers.

"Holy shit!" Bobby exclaimed once he realized who it was. He dropped his gun and rushed to her side. "Eli! Oh fuck, Eli…"

She was laying in a heap on the floor, naked and bloody, feathers scattered around her like they had been ripped out of a very large bird. When he turned her over he saw that there was a gaping wound in her chest, but it was already healing before his eyes. She was unconscious.

"What the hell?" he muttered frantically, then raised his voice. "Cas!" he yelled, looking around the room as if expecting the angel to appear in front of him. "Castiel! Get your ass down here!"

There was no answer. Bobby grabbed his coat from the rack and draped it around her shivering figure. The wound in her chest was nearly closed but she was still out cold, tears leaking from her shut eyes. After a moment's hesitation the old hunter scooped her up in his arms and carried her up the stairs to the bathroom, shaking off feathers as he did so. Once she was clean and warm he awkwardly dressed her in some old sweatpants and a too-large sweatshirt and placed her gently in bed, before pulling out his phone and dialing the number by heart.

"Yeah, Sam? You two need to get over here, pronto. We got a situation."

* * *

"What the hell, Bobby?" Dean asked, standing over the bed a few hours later and staring at the unconscious figure under the sheets.

Bobby shook his head, removing his ball cap and twisting it in his hands. "I don't know."

"No, seriously, _what the hell_?" Dean snapped, a little frantically. Sam sank down onto the mattress next to her and pulled a wayward feather from her hair.

"So much for our retirement," he muttered morosely. The last few months had been so good, the best ever. Eli had done what she promised: the planet was clean of all monsters and spirits; only now were a few starting to trickle back on to the radar. He and his brother had spent their time traveling aimlessly, having fun, bonding, and on their slow days Dean visited Lisa, taking her and her son to baseball games and playing house. It had been so _peaceful_.

"I mean, last time we saw her she was disappearing into the light with Cas," Dean was saying, sitting at the foot of the bed and resting his elbows on his knees. "That was what, six months ago? And where the hell is Cas, anyway?"

"One thing's for sure," Sam said, inspecting Eli's bloodless face. Dean and Bobby turned to look at him as he raised his eyes grimly. "She's not an angel anymore. No angel would look like this."

"No angel would be _unconscious_ ," Dean grumbled.

"She showed up with some gaping hole in her chest," Bobby said, putting his hat back on and shoving his hands in his pockets. "Healed right away, but it was pretty nasty. Like someone had cut through her with a butter knife."

"It makes sense," Sam said quietly, and Dean shot him a look.

"What about this _makes sense_?" he hissed. Sam sighed and stood up, pressing his palms against his forehead, feeling a headache coming on.

"Her grace. It's been ripped out. That's why she's no longer an angel."

"You think someone cut out her grace?" Bobby asked incredulously, looking between the Winchesters with wide eyes. "What….how the hell is that even possible? Who could do something like that?"

"An Archangel," rasped a familiar voice. The three hunters turned to see a bloodied and bruised Castiel stagger into the room, looking disoriented. He stumbled and nearly fell into Dean's arms.

"Woah there," Dean said, shouldering the wounded angel. Once he had righted himself Castiel pushed Dean away.

"I'm fine," he said, coughing and making his way to the bed. He looked down at Eli's wan face, her lips slightly blue as she breathed in and out evenly. "How is she?"

"She'll be fine," Sam said in a gentle voice, trying to guide Castiel to a chair, but the angel was having none of it. He stood as if to prove to the room that he could, despite the fact that his limbs were shaking and his eyes only halfway open. "Cas, what the hell happened up there? Are you saying that an Archangel…"

"Archangels, actually," Castiel said, placing a hand against the wall to steady himself.

"As in more than one?" Dean asked. Castiel shot him a withering look.

"That is usually what the suffix 's' implies," he growled.

"Okay, Cas," Sam said soothingly, shrinking back as the angel fixed his glowering gaze on him. "Why don't you just tell us what happened?"

Castiel shook his head. "No. There isn't enough time." Gritting his teeth he pushed himself straight and turned to the bed, scooping the unconscious Eli into his arms. "Angels are coming. We have to get out of here."

"Angels?" Sam asked bewilderedly just as Dean snapped: "Coming for what?"

Castiel sighed, positioning Eli in his arms so that her head was cushioned on his chest. "For her."

There was a pause. Then Dean blurted out: "Cas, seriously, what the hell…"

"Here," Castiel interrupted, shifting her body in his shaking limbs so that he could dig in his pocket. He took out a small slip of paper and pressed it into Dean's hand. "Go. As fast as you can. We'll be here. And also…"

From the depths of his trench coat he pulled out an angel-killing blade and dropped it on the bed. "Just in case."

"In case of what?" Sam asked, but Castiel merely hefted Eli's dead weight closer to his body and vanished.

"Good to know couples life hasn't changed him," Dean muttered, grabbing the stout sword from the bedspread.

"So I guess we're on the lam again," Sam said with exhaustion in his voice. "I knew peace couldn't last forever."

Bobby rolled his eyes and smacked him upside the head. "Enough talking. Didn't you idiots hear what he said? Angels coming, now. So move your asses if you want them to stay attached to your bodies!"

* * *

Dean pulled the Impala smoothly into the driveway of a typical suburban house in Green Acres, Iowa. He stopped and checked the paper in his hand with confusion.

"Dean, are you sure this is right?" Sam asked, staring at the house in front of them. It was a cookie-cutter off-white split-level, the exact same as the green split-level next to it and the tan split-level next to that. The lawn was neatly trimmed, green despite the fact that fall was quickly encroaching. It was silent.

"That's what the paper says," Dean said, just as the garage door opened. The two brothers shared a look before Dean cautiously edged his beloved car into the empty garage, Bobby's truck pulling up next to them. Once both were safely inside the door slid back down with an ominous _clang_.

The three hunters stepped out, a bit bewildered. "Are we really supposed to be in _Better Homes And Gardens_?" Bobby asked suspiciously. "Maybe this is a trap."

"No trap," a voice rasped from the doorway. Castiel was standing there, looking cleaner but still exhausted, his trench coat uncharacteristically wrinkled. "Took you long enough."

"Why this place, Cas?" Sam asked as they walked single-file into the house. The inside was just as boring as the outside, white tile floors with a honey-wood kitchen table, a breakfast nook, and an island surrounded by bar stools. They all looked out of place in the sterile environment, dirty tired faces with duffel bags full of guns and grease in their hair.

"This entire cul-de-sac is empty," he informed them. "The company that developed it is still fighting over land rights. No one will live here for months, at least. No one will find us in this place. We are safe. For now."

"Where's Eli?" Bobby asked gruffly, eyeing the angel with suspicion. He had never quite gotten over the fact that Castiel and Eli were together, and despite everything his fatherly instincts were to not trust any man sleeping with his pseudo-daughter. Castiel nodded to an archway that led to a room carpeted in eggshell white.

"Resting. She has still not regained consciousness."

"So, Cas," Dean said, dropping his bag and kicking off his shoes, feeling an odd pleasure at the clumps of dirt on the pristine floor. "We're here, safe and sound. You gonna tell us what the hell is going on?"

Castiel removed his trench coat before perching self-consciously on one of the bar stools. "There is a war going on in Heaven," he began in a rough voice. "A civil war started by two rebellious Archangels. They are… not happy with the way that the apocalypse played out. They wish to take things into their own hands."

"And how does ripping out Eli's grace help them?" Sam asked, going to the sink for a glass of water, only to find that there were no cups in the house. Castiel sighed.

"Perhaps I should start at the beginning."

"Great!" Dean said perkily, sitting on the counter-top and pulling a beer from his bag. "Story-time. Awesome."

"Shut up and let the angel talk," Bobby growled.

Castiel stared at his hands, contemplating. He took a deep breath. "For six months, we had peace, just as you did. Heaven was…unexpectedly calm. We should have known something was wrong, that something was going on under the surface, but we were just so _happy_. When we finally did see what was happening, it was too late." He paused, as if barely able to continue. "And now everything we worked for is ruined."

 


	4. In Which Sexy Time Is Interrupted By Douchebags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_An unspecified earlier date; or, it's hard to say because time isn't really an issue in Heaven_ **

The sun peeked through the blinds just when Eli wanted it to, bathing the bedroom in a golden glow and throwing dappled light across her face. She smiled sleepily and snuggled closer to Castiel's chest, his heart pumping steadily under her cheek.

He kissed the top of her head. "Good morning."

"Mmm, morning," she said, tipping her face up to kiss his chin and smiling at the scratch of stubble against her lips. "How did you sleep?"

He hesitated. "It was…pleasant. I still don't understand why we force our bodies to sleep when it is unnecessary."

"Because when we sleep we get to wake up," she said, pulling herself so that she was eye level with him. "And feel like this."

He was silent for a moment. "Oh."

"If you don't want to, you…"

He silenced her with a kiss. "No. I enjoy feeling like this."

"You know what's crazy?" Eli asked, sitting up and stretching. At a thought the blinds curled up, showing a pink sunrise over fog-covered mountains. "That if we wanted to, we could make it three o'clock in the afternoon, or sunset, or midnight. It's like living in a dream."

"Heaven is without physical parameters," Castiel murmured, tracing his hand along her stomach. "For angels, it is what you wish it to be. You see what you want to see, feel how you want to feel. It's why we still look this way to each other rather than…"

"Winged beams of light?" Eli said wryly. "Yeah, I'll take this." She paused, looking around the room, a snug bedroom with hardwood furniture and a huge bed with impossibly soft sheets. "Still, it's a little weird. Like being inside the Matrix. It's so…unreal."

He leaned over and kissed her stomach, tracing the path where his hand had been, his stubble rough over her skin. "Is this real?" he murmured, working his way upward. Eli laughed, worming her way under him as his mouth finally reached hers.

"Very."

The sun stayed just where it was, a pink smudge over the horizon, until (what might have been minutes or hours or days later) they were finally ready to leave the bed. Then it edged upward impossibly fast, filling the room with rich light. Eli made her way to the kitchen wearing only his shirt, her legs longer and leaner than in the real world, which made her vainly happy.

She was particularly proud of the house. The kitchen was spacious, the huge bay windows that lined the walls each staring out into something different. To the east was the ocean, waves rolling happily on white sand; to the west fall mountains, leaves red and orange, dripping to the ground; to the north a deeply green forest, cool and shadowed; to the south, steady snowfall over a vast countryside.

She pulled out pots and pans and rummaged in the huge refrigerator for eggs, bacon, milk, butter. Castiel walked up behind her in just his black pants, looking supremely relaxed, the usual furrow in his brow practically gone.

"Don't say it," she said as he watched her busily mixing ingredients. "I know I don't have to cook anything. I know I could just wave my hand and the food would magically appear."

"Waving your hand is not necessary," he said seriously, and she laughed despite herself.

"Next you'll point out that we technically don't need to eat."

"Hmm," he said, wrapping his arms around her from behind as she worked. "Do you know me so well?" He kissed her shoulder lightly before burying his face in her hair. "I like to eat."

"I've noticed," Eli said, trying to focus on beating the eggs with a fork. "I just…cooking grounds me. I need to feel… I need to work with…" She sighed, putting down her bowl and turning to face him, running her hands absently down his bare arms. "I guess I'm just finding it hard to adjust. Everything is so … perfect here. It's freaking me out."

"We will not be here forever," Castiel said, brushing hair from her eyes. "This is merely a respite. Once we leave this place there will be duties, struggles, hardship, time. Heaven is divided now, and we are the ones chosen to fix it. You should enjoy this while you can."

Eli smiled at him, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around his back, feeling how warm his skin was. "I know. Eternity wigs me out just a little bit," she confessed. "It's so vast. I don't know how to deal with it."

"Take it moment by moment," he rasped softly, his hands on her hips. "It's shorter than you think."

"I know," she said, then leaned forward to kiss his chest. He hummed, that quiet purring sound that she loved so much, and slipped his hands under the white shirt she was wearing.

"I think," he said in a solemn voice. "That breakfast can wait."

Eli agreed wholeheartedly.

* * *

The actual business of getting Heaven in order was strangely subdued. Truthfully, there wasn't much to do. Everything was calm, still, like the water hadn't even rippled when the apocalypse failed to happen, when Michael was locked in the cage and God, still missing, had revived, powered-up, and apparently allowed a formerly rebellious angel and a former abomination to take the reins.

Eli wanted so badly to be suspicious, but this was Heaven. Maybe all angels weren't dicks like the ones she had previously come in to contact with. Maybe they understood that paradise wasn't all it was cracked up to be, that mankind was precious and young and needed to struggle in their flawed world for a while longer.

Plus, Castiel was happy, and she…was happy too. She supposed. The stagnancy chafed at her, the flawless perfection slightly creepy, and she longed for the fight, the urgency of battle, but she was happy. She was in Heaven! Of course she was happy.

Even in her own head, it sounded desperate.

One day (or did it happen in a moment, a fraction of a second, a week, an eon?) Eli stepped out her east-side window to lay by the beach. The sky was a perfect, flat blue, as it always was, the sun not too bright, hot enough to warm her skin but not so hot that she was sweating. She sighed, frustrated, and wished for clouds, which immediately gathered, white and fluffy.

"Fuck," she groaned, tearing off her floppy hat and marching back into the kitchen. "Cas? Cas!"

He appeared in front of her, his brow creased, in his usual suit and trench coat. "There is a problem," he informed her gravely. Eli sighed.

"Thank God."

Castiel frowned at her. "I doubt God has anything to do with this."

Eli cracked a smile and shook her head, allowing her clothes to shift to jeans and a t-shirt. "So what's the problem?"

"We are being summoned," he said, reaching forward and playing with her fingers a bit nervously. "By the Archangels."

Eli nodded and gripped his hand. "All right. Let's go see what the neighbors want."

A moment later, the house stood empty, and Eli and Castiel found themselves on a windswept hill. The sky was stormy, but a certain unreal, dreamlike quality about the situation told Eli that they were still in Heaven, just on someone else's turf.

A man and a woman were standing there, both dressed in dark, pristine suits. Castiel nodded to them. "Remiel. Sariel."

"Castiel," the woman, Sariel, nodded politely at them. She had dark skin with long, shining hair that was pulled into a low ponytail. Her voice was rich, like honey, with a singing, almost molten quality about it. "Elijah. The chosen two. How good of you to come."

Eli knew that neither of them really looked like this, that they were all seeing things a little differently, seeing the forms that they expected to see, but it was a difficult concept to grasp. She wondered what the Archangels were seeing her as: Light? Shadows? Two-dimensional? With four faces? The possibilities were endless.

"It is an honor to be summoned," Castiel said, but there was a pat quality about his words, like they were a formality that needed reciting. He tilted his head like a bird, fixing the two with a penetrating stare. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"You are, actually," Remiel said. He was a tall man, all skin and bone, with an attractive, slightly too-long face and chalk-white skin. His eyes were colorless, his curling hair such a perfect shade of amber it looked as though bugs should be trapped in it. Unlike the rest of them, he had his wings showing, all six of them, great white things that shifted like they were alive.

Castiel hesitated. "Excuse me?"

"Well, the problem and the solution, all rolled into one," Remiel continued blithely, his wings rustling. "You see, we need your help. Bit embarrassing really, but there it is. With Michael in the pit it seems we have no one else to turn to."

"If you needed help, why did you wait so long to ask for it?" Castiel asked cautiously. "What do you need help with?"

"The apocalypse, of course," Remiel said, smiling a little. Eli jerked in surprise. "A few of us banded together to talk the whole thing over and decided that we don't like how it all went down. It didn't go exactly as planned, as I'm sure you're aware, being that you're the ones who screwed it over. But that's okay. We didn't want to bring it up before, because, well, it would have been rude to jump-start the party before everything was in place. But now we have this."

From his pocket he pulled out a circle of silver.

Eli screamed instinctively and stumbled back, only to feel strong arms grab her and hold her in place. "That's not possible," she gasped, barely able to breathe. She looked at Castiel, currently struggling with angels twisting his hands behind his back. "That…it's in the pit with Lucifer! It's gone!"

"Really now, Eli, think about it. Where was the collar forged?" Remiel paused, raising his eyebrows with a smirk. "And where are we right now? Fires of Heaven are still a-burning. All we had to do was put in an order for a new one. Secretly, of course."

"But it's useless now," Castiel snapped, still struggling fiercely. "Elijah is no longer a Nephilim."

"Merely semantics," Remiel said breezily. "An Abomination with a grace is still an Abomination. One only needs to remove that which is in One's way. Sariel?"

The darker angel nodded and pulled a long, thin blade from her sleeve. She approached Eli with something close to pity in her eyes. "I am sorry," she murmured. "But we need paradise."

"What are you going to do?" Eli gasped, twisting uselessly against her captors.

"We're not going to do anything," Remiel said, arching his wings upward triumphantly. "You're going to open the pit and let Michael and Lucifer out to have their long-awaited duel. Michael will win, of course. And then, finally, we will have paradise."

"What if he doesn't win?" Castiel hissed. "What if you are damning the earth to hell?"

"If Michael loses, we still have an unlocked Nephilim in our control," Remiel said, shrugging. "She'll blast the Morningstar to pieces. Lucifer will still fall."

Eli struggled harder as Sariel reached out her hand. "Stay away from me!" she screamed. "Stay the fuck away from me! You can't do this! Cas! _Cas_!"

"Eli!" he yelled hoarsely, but doubled over as an angel punched him in the stomach and another landed a blow to his face.

"He can't help you," Sariel said softly. "He is a traitor to the cause and will go to prison for his crimes."

"No!" Eli shrieked. Sariel lifted the blade to her chest, and Eli felt a sharp pain right above her heart. "No, stop, please, please, stop!"

"In paradise, all will be forgiven," Sariel whispered. "It will be better. You'll see."

With agonizingly slow movements, Sariel began to cut a rough circle in Eli's chest. Light leaked out of it, growing brighter and brighter with each inch removed. Eli threw her head back and screamed, feeling the hole widen until the circle was complete. Her wings flared behind her, suddenly visible, then disintegrated in a blast like a shock-wave as her grace poured out of her.

"Finish the job!" Remiel was screaming. "The moment she turns, blow her to pieces! We need to get this collar on her _now!_ "

The pain was overwhelming. Eli couldn't breathe; white radiance poured from her eyes and mouth, encompassing the whole area, shaking her apart. In the background, Castiel had gone limp, watching her burn as angels rained blows upon him.

It was too bright to see.

And then they were gone.

 


	5. In Which Everything Blows Pretty Hardcore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**Three Months Ago...** _

Silence reigned in the room. Everyone just sat there, dumb with horror and disbelief, Sam making small choking noises in the back of his throat, Bobby's face white as a sheet.

Finally Dean spoke. "This blows."

"Eloquent as always, Dean," said a groggy voice from the archway. They all turned to see Eli standing there with a wan smile on her face. She looked washed out and somehow diminished, flatter, the circles under her eyes like dark bruises, Bobby's old clothes hanging sack-like from her body. She stumbled a little and Castiel was immediately by her side, guiding her to a chair.

"You should be resting," he said in a quiet voice, and she sighed.

"I'm fine." She grinned wearily at the three hunters. "Hi boys. Long time no see."

They just stared at her. Finally Sam stated the obvious. "You're…not an angel anymore."

"I thought Cas just explained that," she said harshly. Sam shook his head.

"No, I mean… you're not an angel, but you're not nuclear. If your grace is gone, how are you…" He trailed off. Eli shrugged, running a hand through her knotted hair and resting her elbows on the table.

"I dunno. Maybe my power is gone. Maybe it's just locked up again. All I know is that I feel like shit and I can do _nothing_. Not see demons, not teleport, not anything. I'm fucking useless, and exhausted, and just so…"

"Human," Dean said softly. Eli coughed.

"It sucks hardcore, let me tell you that."

"But Eli…" Sam started hesitantly again. "Power like that doesn't just get locked up on its own. I mean…"

"What he's trying to say," Bobby interrupted in a frustrated voice. "Is how the hell did you escape from a couple of Archangels and how the hell are you not imploding right now?"

"God," Castiel said, and all heads swung to him. He met their gazes stonily. "It's the only explanation. Nothing else could have pulled us out of Heaven and bound Eli's power."

"Oh come on!" Dean exclaimed suddenly, standing up. "Seriously? That's where this is going? We're getting involved with the whole God thing again? Didn't we _just do this_?"

"Dean…" Sam started, and Dean turned on him.

"No!" he shouted. "No, this is bullshit! Things were good, Sammy, for the first time ever. And now we're getting pulled back into all of this God and angels and apocalypse crap? You know what happened last time we got involved with the end of the world? _You went to hell._ Lucifer wore you to the prom and Bobby died and Cas died and Eli nearly imploded and you went to hell. I can't let that happen again. I can't fucking lose you again!"

"It's okay, Dean," Eli said softly, and he swung his gaze to her. "We're not asking you to get involved. This isn't your fight."

He just stared at her for a few moments, gaping like a fish. "What?"

She met his gaze steadily. "You and Sam have played your roles. All I'm asking is that you just hide out until this we solve this. For your own safety."

"You… you want us to _hide_?" Dean asked incredulously. "The world could be ending and you want us to _hide_?"

Eli hid a smile. "Those are the two options, Dean. Hide or fight. Which will it be?"

He groaned and put his head in his hands. "Son of a bitch."

"Fight it is," Sam said, lacing his fingers on his knees.

"Of course it damn well is," Bobby agreed gruffly.

Castiel looked vaguely relieved. "Thank you," he said in a quiet voice.

There was a pause. "So…what now?" Sam finally asked.

"Now," Castiel said, looking at Eli, who was nearly falling asleep on the table, her head bobbing and eyes half-lidded. "We wait."

"Wait?" Dean snapped. "That's all?"

Castiel focused on him grimly, his eyes shadowed and weary. "And pray."

* * *

They waited three days.

Slowly Eli regained strength, but was still powerless, and it was impossible to tell if that lack of power meant she was now human or simply locked up again.

They stayed in the house. Bobby made a store run and brought back food, booze, paper cups, plates and forks, candles, matches, toilet paper, blankets, and a pack of cards. The five of them sat on the floor at night and played Poker and Blackjack by candlelight, eating canned tuna sandwiches and drinking whisky as they attempted to teach Castiel the rules of the games. The bedrooms had no beds so they staked out various corners of the house, each trying to find the softest piece of carpeting.

Castiel and Eli curled up in an empty bedroom, her jacket balled under her head as a pillow, his trench coat spread over her body as a blanket. Castiel didn't need to sleep so he just held her as she shivered in the chill nights, pulling her as close as possible to his heat.

Eli woke up at two o'clock in the morning on the third night to find him staring at her, his face bathed in the silver moonlight that streamed in through the tall windows. She blinked sleepily at him, hating how exhausted and fragile she felt, how sick and completely mortal.

"Cas," she murmured, lifting her hand to trace his face. "What's the matter?"

"I must go," he said softly, and she sat up, pushing hair out of her eyes, suddenly completely awake.

"What? Go where?"

"Back to Heaven," Castiel said steadily. Eli shook her head, but he continued before she could protest. "We have waited here long enough. We must find out what is happening. We need information, Eli."

"They'll kill you," she insisted.

"They won't know I'm there." He paused, deep in thought. "I believe that the rebellion is only a few. The rest must know that we are alive, that we are fighting. We have to mobilize the faithful." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering there. "I will be quick. I will not be caught."

She bit her lip, looking downward with sad realization. "You were just waiting for me to heal," she said. He cupped her chin and lifted her face to his.

"I had to know that you would be all right. You are safe here. I will return as soon as I am able."

"No, Cas." She seized his shirt, then kissed him impulsively. "Not just yet. Please stay with me tonight."

"Eli, I…"

She kissed him again, insistently, pushing him back against the crème carpet. "Just tonight," she whispered, letting him taste her tears, her fingers already working the buttons on his shirt. Finally he gave in, wrapping his arms around her and rolling so that she was under him, and they let themselves forget the future for a few brief moments.

When she woke again she was naked under his trench coat, the sun was shining through the windows, and he was gone.

* * *

"So he's just gone?" Sam asked. It was morning; they were in the kitchen. Eli was hunched over a bowl of lukewarm Cheerios, her eyes tired and shadowed.

"Seems like it," she snapped morosely. Dean paced the room, looking about to explode.

"And you have no idea when he'll be back?" Eli didn't respond, so Dean continued raging. "And we're just supposed to sit here and do nothing while he risks his neck in Heaven? Great, just fucking great."

"Dean," Sam said reproachfully. He caught his brother's eye and jerked his head to Eli, who was ignoring them, eating her Cheerios with a curtain of slightly-greasy hair obscuring her face.

"Well, how am I supposed to react?" Dean hissed. "I thought we already had the _hide or fight_ conversation, because let me tell you, this sure as hell doesn't feel like fighting!"

Eli stood up abruptly. "I'm going to take a shower," she announced to no one in particular, then turned and marched out of the room without a second glance.

She turned on the water and stuck her hand under it, quietly thankful that the hot water was working. At her request Bobby had bought some travel shampoo and soap, and a pair of jeans in her size, and, most embarrassing for him, undergarments. Once inside the shower she lathered up her hair, cranking the heat up to near-boiling, her skin growing redder by the second.

Something about what Dean had said was bothering her. _Hide or fight, hide or fight._ It was like she was forgetting something, something important, something that had happened. Something that she did.

A memory, clouded by the claustrophobic sense of crushing power and vast perception that it brought with it, surfaced in her mind. Something that she did. _Something that she did._

"Oh," Eli whispered, staring blankly in to space, soap still spiraling down the drain. "Of course. You."

She got out of the shower and quickly dried off, dressing and running a brush through her hair. Minutes later she tromped down the stairs and swiped Bobby's car keys from the counter.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Bobby asked gruffly, rising from his spot at the table.

"I have an idea," she yelled over her shoulder, heading for the door.

"Woah, woah, woah, you're going outside? Isn't that against the rules or something?" Dean demanded, blocking her way.

She attempted to push past him but he grabbed her shoulder, effectively stopping all forward motion. Eli sighed, irritated that she was losing precious time. "I'll be _fine_. I'll be back before you know it. I just need to…check up on a lead."

"Eli, the angels are still looking for you," Sam said, joining his brother. "At least let one of us…"

"I've got the rib-markings just like you do," she snapped. "They won't be able to find me. It's not like this house is a bunker or something, we're just here because it's convenient. I can go out for a few hours by myself." She softened her tone a little, attempting to smile. "I'll be fine. Really. And if this works out, if I can find who I need to find, it could really help us all." She gently removed Dean's hand from her shoulder, and he let it drop limply to his side. "I'll be back soon. I promise."

Then she pushed past him and walked out the door.

Two days later, they found Bobby's truck outside of an abandoned toy factory thirty miles away. A day after that, Castiel returned, but even with their soul-bond the frantic angel couldn't find her.

Three months after that, on a cold day in Chicago, Illinois, Elizabeth Graham went to Starbucks to study for an exam.

 


	6. In Which Beth Is Kidnapped By Hot Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**Present Day** _

"So it's the boyfriend?" Dean asked skeptically. Castiel shot him a look.

"He is _not_ her boyfriend," he growled, pacing the floor with slightly manic movements.

"Oh, sorry then, her _man friend_ ," Dean said sarcastically.

They were in a motel room several blocks from her apartment, drinking whisky and discussing the situation in tense voices. Dean was stretched out on the bed with his boots off, clutching the bottle in his hand and occasionally passing it over to Sam, who sat hunched over his computer, typing quickly. Castiel was wearing holes in the already threadbare carpet, but after a minute he sat down on the bed and relieved Dean of his whisky.

"He's not human," Castiel said, taking a long drink and as usual not even wincing as the liquid burned down his throat. "I don't know what he is, but he's powerful. My guess is that every time she starts to remember something he wipes her mind, keeping her trapped as this _Elizabeth Graham_ persona."

"Why?" Sam asked, looking up from his typing. "What is he getting out of this?"

"Yeah, from the sound of it he's not even getting laid," Dean said, swiping the bottle back from Castiel.

The angel shook his head. "I don't know. But what I do know is that what he is doing takes power, extreme power."

"It's just a mind-screw," Sam said, pulling away from the computer and reaching for the bottle, only to find that it was gone from Dean's hand. Confused, he looked up; Castiel had started pacing again, drinking deeply. "Like when Zachariah made us think we were those douchey employees at that haunted company. How much power can that really take?"

"It's much, much more than that. It's a complete bending of the fabric of reality. Elizabeth Graham has a family, not Elijah Grant's family, a different one. She has friends who have known her for years. She is going to classes she never signed up for, accepted into a school where she never applied. Beyond that, if Eli is still a Nephilim, it would be near impossible to change her memories because of all of the barriers in her mind. The only thing I could possibly think that could do this would have to come from…"

"Heaven," Sam said, sitting up very straight. Castiel nodded.

"But there is no whisper of this in Heaven. They are just as lost as we are."

"Sam, what is it?" Dean asked, noticing the look on his brother's face. Sam leaned his chin on his hands and stared into space, his brow creased.

"Nothing, it's just…" The younger Winchester hesitated. "Cas, what did you say this guy Tom called her at one point?"

Castiel looked confused. "Uh…Blondie?"

"And he called her Eli, not Beth…" Sam murmured quietly, deep in thought. "And she left that day because she was going to find someone…"

"Spit it out, Sam," Dean snapped. "Cryptic doesn't work even on TV shows. It's just irritating."

Sam blinked as if coming back from his own dream world, then looked around the room. "I think I know who it is," he said slowly. "And I think I know how we can stop him."

* * *

Beth sat at the bar, swinging her feet from the tall stool and sipping her beer. "I don't know, Lucy," she moaned. "I mean, what does he expect to happen?"

"I think," Lucy said seriously, drinking her Sex On The Beach through a tiny straw, "that he expects to get married and make lots of little babies with you."

Beth nearly choked on her beer and pushed her friend's shoulder. "Shut up! You know what I mean. What if…what if we try something and it doesn't work out? It would ruin the friendship. I can't take that risk."

"But what if it was the thing that made you really happy?" Lucy countered. Beth hesitated, looking downward, and Lucy immediately put her drink down and leaned forward expectantly. "Oh my God, Beth, is there someone else?"

"What?" Beth asked, looking back up with surprise on her face. "No, no, there's no one else. It's just …"

"Just what?" Lucy pressed. "I mean, I don't see why you're hesitating. You and Tom are perfect for each other. People have been betting that you two would get married since you were kids."

"He's great," Beth said slowly. "I just…can't explain it. I feel like there's someone out there, for me, and it's not Tom. Like I've never met this person and don't who he is but I can feel him, inside of me, like a…like a mark, or something. And he's the person that I'm meant to be with, and being with anyone else would just be…wrong."

"Like soul mates," Lucy said in a soft voice. Beth shrugged.

"Maybe. I don't know. Does that sound crazy?"

"Yes," Lucy said bluntly, pushing her short dark hair out of her eyes. "But uber-romantic too. You have any idea who this soul-mate is?"

Beth shook her head. "No, it's just a feeling."

"Maybe Tom is this person and you don't know it," Lucy suggested. She stirred the ice in her drink, staring into the pink liquid thoughtfully. "Maybe if you don't take a chance you'll never find out."

"Why are you so into the idea of us getting together?" Beth asked, finishing her beer and tilting her head at her friend. Despite the warmth she shivered a little, tugging her sleeves down; outside, it had begun to snow, thick flakes drifting lazily and creating an old-time pub effect in the little bar. "You don't even know Tom that well."

Lucy shrugged. "I don't know. It just seems…sweet. Cute. Important."

"Say that last one again?" Beth asked, but someone tapped her on the shoulder.

"Elizabeth Graham?" a gruff voice asked. Beth turned around, smiling politely.

"Yeah?"

"Agents Ford and Sheppard, FBI, "the man said, flipping down his badge. There was something oddly familiar about the two of them, how the one was tall and lean with floppy hair and the one speaking to her had broad shoulders and looked tough despite his long, pretty lashes. Even their slightly ill-fitting suits were familiar, the way they smelled like mothballs and car leather. "We'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Wait a minute," Lucy said slowly, looking between the two of them. "You're not cops. You're the guys from the coffee shop."

"What?" all three asked simultaneously. She nodded.

"Yeah, from a couple days ago. I never forget a hot face." She turned to Beth, who was looking at her with nothing but confusion, and raised her eyebrows. "Come on, Beth, how can you not remember them? It was like the weirdest thing ever. And then that guy made out with you!"

Beth gave a nervous laugh. "I, uh… I think I'd remember if someone made out with me."

"I'm serious!" Lucy insisted, hopping off of her bar stool to glare at the two men, the action made less intimidating by the fact that she was only about 5'2''. "These are the guys!" She directed her next words at them. "So you're with like a theater troupe, or something? This isn't funny, you know. Why do you keep coming after my friend?"

The men shared a look. "Yeah, you're right, we are in theater," the taller one said with resignation, running a hand through his hair. The other smiled perkily.

"We do magic, too. Wanna see a trick? This is how you make someone disappear."

A hand clapped down on Beth's shoulder. A man who wasn't there before pulled her off of the stool; Beth had a glimpse of Lucy's wide eyes and dropped jaw, and then the scene melted away like it never was.

* * *

"Did you really have to knock her out?" Dean asked, crossing his arms and watching through narrowed eyes as Castiel adjusted an unconscious Eli on the couch.

"I assumed that sudden teleportation would be an undue shock to her system," the angel said stiffly, standing and fixing Dean with a pensive stare. "She could have screamed, or become violent."

"By knocking her out, aren't we just putting off the screaming and violence?" Sam pointed out, taking two beers from Bobby and handing one to his brother. They were back at Bobby's house; Castiel had spent the last few days layering protection and warding spells over the property so that they couldn't be discovered by any angels or demons. The place was messier than usual; they hadn't been back much after their abrupt departure three months before, and dust lay heavy on the floor, books and guns and old bottles of beer scattered over nearly every available surface.

"Then at least we will be prepared," Castiel said, taking a blanket from Bobby and covering Eli with it.

"So this plan of yours," Dean said, sitting on a chair and drinking deeply from his bottle. "I get that we're gonna lure him here and force him to let her go, but the question is, how are we gonna get her to cooperate? I don't think, ' _guess what, your best friend is brainwashing you, and oh yeah, your whole life is a lie_ ' is gonna be a convincing argument."

"We'll find a way," Sam said. "We have to."

"She'll trust us," Bobby said with surprising confidence, bringing in a pillow for Eli's head. "She's our Eli, for God's sake. You think one little brainwashing can kill the real her? She'll know us."

"I wish I had your confidence," Castiel said in a resigned tone, sitting next to her sleeping figure and tenderly brushing hair from her eyes. "But in case she doesn't… be prepared for the worst."

* * *

Beth woke slowly.

It was hard to open her eyes, like they were being pulled down by tiny weights attached to her eyelids. When she finally did blink sleepily the room was one big blur; she rubbed her eyes with her hands, yawning, then tried to focus again.

' _How much did I drink last night?'_ she thought, dazed. ' _I don't even remember getting home.'_

"…just try again, damnit!" someone was muttering.

"I told you, I can't break the spell," an oddly familiar voice rasped.

"Hey guys, she's waking up," a third voice said, and then someone crouched in front of her, obscuring her vision. "Eli? Hey, it's okay, you're safe. Just don't freak out."

"Where…" Beth started, blinking hard and sitting up with difficulty. She looked around the room for the first time, noting that it was a place she had never seen before but also that it was strangely familiar. She had a flash, briefly, of tucking a blanket around a sleeping older man, the same man now standing in the corner of the room, staring at her from beneath a dirty baseball cap. The vision was gone as soon as it came, leaving her dazed and confused. "Where am I? What is this? What's going on?"

"Eli," the tall man kneeling next to her started, and she turned her attention to him.

"You're the guys from the bar," she suddenly gasped, edging away from him on the couch. "Did you… did you _kidnap_ me?"

"This is not what it looks like," the man in the trench coat, the one with the comfortingly raspy voice, said, staring at her with unsettling eyes.

"Oh really?" she stuttered, trying to get off the couch and instead falling, her legs tangled in the blanket. "'Cause it looks like a bunch of fucking strangers drugged me and dragged me to some _don't touch me!_ " she hissed, jerking away as Castiel crouched down to attempt to help her up. She finally managed to scramble to her feet and backed toward the window, her hands held out in front of her. "Don't come near me, any of you! I fucking mean it! I will rip your throats out with my _teeth_ before I let any of you touch me!"

"Yeah, she's definitely still Eli," Dean said in low voice, smirking a little. She swung on him.

"You think kidnapping girls is _funny_ , asshat?"

"Okay!" Sam said in a loud voice. "Look, to be honest, we did kidnap you. But it was for your own good. My name is Sam, this is Dean, Castiel, and Bobby. We're your friends, Eli, we're trying to help you."

"And I keep telling you _I don't know you_ ," she hissed, tears starting to flood her eyes. "I don't want to be here, please, just let me go, okay?"

"You've been lied to, Eli," Castiel said in his rough voice. "Your whole life is a lie. I think you know that, deep in your soul. Who you are now is not your destiny."

"Don't you _dare_ spout destiny crap to me!" she yelled, balling her hands into fists, her hair in tangled knots around her face. "I've waited my whole life for…and when I finally…" She took a deep breath, staring at him with narrowed eyes. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

The three hunters surged forward as if to physically prevent Castiel from saying what he was about to say, but he spoke before they could reach him. "I am an angel of the Lord."

"Son of a bitch…" Dean muttered. "Cas, what have we _told_ you about dropping the angel bomb?"

Beth looked at them, her mouth hanging open. "You're crazy," she gasped. "You're all fucking crazy. You…you're an _angel_? In a _trench coat_? An _angel?_ "

"Of the Lord," Castiel supplied helpfully, as if there were any other kind.

The room was quiet for a moment after his declaration as Beth just gaped, unable to form words. Dean cleared his throat and titled his head to Sam. "Well at least it can't get any wor…" he began, when Castiel made it worse.

"And so were you."

Beth began to laugh then, laughter that was manic and edged with tears. "I'm a what now? Is this… is this some kind of TV show? Candid camera or something? Is this all a joke? Because if it is, you all better believe I will sue your asses nine ways to Sunday!"

"This is not a joke, Elijah," Castiel said firmly, and Beth shook her head.

"For the last time, _my name is not_ …"

Castiel was in front of her in an instant, his long fingers touching her wrist with a strange kind of tenderness. "Your name," he insisted, "is Elijah Grant. And you are a Nephilim."

 _'_ _**Wait wait wait. First of all, you know these guys? And second, your name is** _ **Elijah** _ **?'  
** _ _**'My parents thought they were having a boy, all right?'** _

' _ **And you! Elijah Grant! The Nephilim. Oh, you're so very important to them, you don't even know, and they're not happy about it. They call you an Abomination. But I think you're doing God's work.'**_

She jerked her hand away and staggered back. "Oh God, what the fuck…" she gasped, holding her head in her hands. She lifted it to glare at Castiel. "What are you doing to me?"

"You're remembering," Castiel said, reaching for her again, and she skittered to the side. "You have to give in to it, Eli, you have to…"

"The only thing I have to do is get the hell out of here!" she exclaimed, breath hitching, tears welling in her eyes. "I don't… I don't _know_ you."

"This is your destiny," he said patiently.

" _I don't have a destiny!_ " she screamed.

There was silence for a long moment after her declaration. Beth just stood there, hands clenched, face red, breathing fast. Then Bobby stepped forward.

"All right, everyone calm down." He fixed Eli with his infamous glare. "Now you listen here, girl, I don't care if you remember or not, but we're practically your family and we are doing right by you. You can scream and cry all you want but you are not leaving this house until I say so, so my suggestion would be to calm the hell down. We ain't gonna hurt ya, I think you already know that. So sit down and drink a damn beer and we'll all discuss this like civilized people, okay?"

Beth gaped at him, then slowly shut her mouth and crossed her arms. "Fine," she snapped, dropping down into a chair. "But I'm not drinking anything that I don't open myself."

"Fine by me," Bobby said, disappearing into the kitchen only to reappear a moment later with cans of beer. He tossed one to her and she caught it. "Your favorite kind," he said gruffly. "Bought it when I heard they'd found you."

Eli cracked it open and sniffed suspiciously. "Just because you found out my favorite type of beer doesn't mean I'll trust you," she muttered.

"Didn't think it would," Bobby said, opening his own can and sinking down onto the couch. "Just a fact."

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Beth said about an hour later, finishing her second beer and putting it on the ground near her feet. "Everything is real: monsters, vampires, ghosts, sirens, wendigos, demons, angels, all of it?"

"Well, not Bigfoot," Dean said apologetically. "Or Santa… we think."

"Or Unicorns," Sam added blithely. "But in general, yeah, if you've heard of it, it's probably real."

"And you guys…hunt these things," she said.

"Up until a few months ago, so did you," Bobby said. Beth gave him a patronizing stare.

"I think I'd remember if I hunted monsters."

' _ **I'll chase down ghosts and demons and monsters and I will get myself killed. I am deathly serious about that. I'm sorry, Bobby, but if I die, it's on your head.'  
**__**'You're a right little bitch, you know that?'**_

She shook her head to clear it of unwanted thoughts. "And I'm some kind of…Nephlite?"

"Nephlim," Castiel corrected. "It means half-angel. Your father was possessed by an angel at the time of your conception."

"And what angel was that?" Beth asked.

"The Archangel Michael," Castiel said flatly. She raised her eyebrows.

"Naturally."

"Look, I know this sounds crazy," Sam started, and Beth let out a harsh laugh.

"Sorry, buddy, but crazy doesn't even begin to cover it. This all sounds like the plot to some crappy teen novel series. Do your vampires sparkle, as well?"

"…but we can prove it to you," Sam plowed on. "You just have to trust us."

"And why on earth would I do that?" Beth hissed, trying very hard to stay calm.

"Because you're Eli Grant," Dean said clearly, and all heads swiveled to look at him. He was leaning forward on his chair, his beer curled between his hands, his eyes dark and uncharacteristically serious. "You're the woman who wanted more than anything in the world to be a hunter. You're the woman who left a good life, home and family and little dog too, to fight Heaven and hell and all the monsters this crapsack world has to offer. You jumped at the call, Eli, you jumped hard. Not even the wrath of Heaven itself could stop you. And whoever you may think you are now, you will always be that person." He fixed her with a stare. "What I don't understand is why you are fighting this so much. Do you really want that badly to be normal? That's not like you, Eli."

"You don't know me," she whimpered, tears flooding her eyes. "I'm nothing, I'm…" She swallowed and shook her head. "I gotta…I have to be alone." She tucked her chin into her chest and bolted up the stairs.

After she left there was silence. Dean sighed and hung his head in his hands, Sam groaned and started to pace, and Bobby just kept on resolutely drinking his beer.

Castiel stood decisively. "I'm going to talk to her," he said. Dean immediately shot up, moving to block the angel's path.

"Woah, woah, do you really think that's such a good idea? She's pretty frazzled right now."

"Dean's right," Sam said. "She needs some time to absorb this."

Castiel shook his head. "There is no time. We are in more danger than ever and every second that she does not remember is a second wasted. I'm going to have to resort to drastic measures."

"What does that mean?" Dean asked, but there was the rustling of wings and Castiel was gone.

 


	7. In Which Castiel Gives New Meaning To The Term 'Drastic Measures'

 

 

Beth found a bedroom that looked unused and locked herself in it. She paced the room, trying to quell the shaking in her hands and the tears that were welling in her eyes. How could this be happening? How could they do this to her? It was like…it was like they did know her, but only the deep dark parts of her, like they were dragging out all of the dreams she had so carefully buried and were parading them in front of her. Everything she could never be, everything she could never have, could never do, could never….

Beth let out a frustrated sob and threw a glass against the wall, where it shattered. "It's not _fair!_ " she screamed. "I can't do this!" She buried her face in her hands, her hair falling as a curtain around her arms. "I can't do this. I'll go mad."

"What can't you do?"

Beth gasped and jerked her head up. Castiel was standing only a few feet away, hands in his trench coat, staring at her with that vaguely unnerving scrutinizing look of his. "How did you get in here?" she asked, glancing at the still-locked door. He tilted his head.

"I flew."

"Of course," she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. "Of course you did." He was silent, just staring at her. Finally she cracked her eyes open and returned the look. "Why are you here, Castiel?" she asked wearily. "Why won't you just leave me alone?"

"Why won't you even entertain the possibility that this is real?" Castiel asked. "Why are you resisting this so fervently?"

"Um, because it's crazy?" she drawled. He looked at her with a steady gaze that seemed to strip all of her barriers.

"You have always had, in my experience, the unsurpassed ability to believe in the crazy," he said evenly, with a hint of warmth in his tone.

Beth sighed and sank down onto the bed, propping her elbows on her knees and her chin on her knuckles. "I did," she said softly, barely noticing as he sat down next to her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. "My whole life, I believed in, well, everything. I wanted so badly for something to happen to me, something special. To _be_ special. And giving up that belief, accepting that I'm just normal, was a long, hard road for me." She choked back a sob, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands. "I couldn't live in that fantasy world any longer. I'm twenty-six years old, I'm going to finish grad school and have a job and a life and if I start believing again and it turns out not to be true, I'll…" She trailed off, unable to continue. Castiel was quiet. She looked at him and smiled weakly. "I can't believe this, Cas, because I want it too much. And if you are all mad, or this is a joke, or you have the wrong girl, it'll break me."

"You are the right girl," he said with certainty. "And you are special."

Beth gave him a watery grin. "How can you be so sure?"

He surprised her by cupping her face in his hand; his touch was familiar, how he traced the curve of her jaw with his thumb, how his eyes were that incredible storm color. She found her attention drawn to his lips; they were perfectly full, slightly chapped, shadowed by faint stubble. "Because," he said, and her eyes moved back to his, and she was holding her breath without knowing why. "I love you."

Very gently, he leaned in and covered her mouth with his.

_**'Cas, what are you doing?'  
** _ _**'Considering disobedience.'** _

She jerked away, surprised by the intense rush of feeling that swept over her, like something inside of her had sparked to life at his touch. "This is a lot to handle," she breathed. "I mean, you love me? I don't even know you."

"Yes, you do," he insisted, and kissed her again.

_**'I never knew you had faith.'  
** _ _**'I'm a half-angel sleeping with a rebel-angel, of course I have faith.'** _

Kissing him, to say the least, was very, very nice. Almost too nice. His lips were soft and warm with just the perfect amount of passion, and he smelled amazing. Beth broke away again, trying to keep her wits about her, but she was running out of excuses. "I, uh, I don't usually do this. I mean, go around kissing guys I just met. Especially guys that kidnapped me." He just smiled a little and dipped his head, tracing her skin with his lips. "And…now you're kissing my neck," Beth stuttered, barely able to think. "That's…wow." She squeezed her eyes shut, trying very hard to remember how to speak, especially as his teeth lightly grazed that one spot that sent shivers down her whole body. "That's very…wow. Okay. I'm not sure that I want to…"

He pulled away slightly to look her in the eye, one hand coming up to gently tug at her hair. "Yes, you do," he repeated, his voice wonderfully low and rough, and kissed her again, harder this time. It was good, incredibly, incredibly good, especially as his tongue parted her lips, and when they broke apart Beth found herself agreeing fervently.

"Hell yeah, I do," she murmured, fingers on the buttons of his white shirt, and was cut off from saying any more by his lips pressing insistently on hers. This was ridiculous, she knew it was, it was _wrong_ , but he was so warm and his hands were just… and he felt so… and she _wanted…_

' _ **I love you, Eli. I should have said it to you every day since the day we met.'**_

His trench coat fell in a heap on the floor; she tugged impatiently at his tie as his jacket and shirt finally came off, and ran her fingers along his skin. It was so warm, and beautifully muscled. He moaned very softy into her mouth, almost a growl, and she let her lips replace her hands, tasting him.

_**'I knew you purred.'** _

Expert hands removed her of her shirt, then her bra, and before she knew it the mattress was pressing into her back and he was on top of her, heat radiating into her bones. He was kissing her so deeply that she didn't know anymore where she ended and he began; she raked her fingers through his dark hair, making soft breathy noises in the back of her throat as her pants came off with infuriating slowness.

_**'I love you.'  
**_ ' _ **Always. More than anything. Even God Himself knows how much I love you.'**_

He knew exactly what to do to make her cry out, like his gentle hands had been mapping her body for years. And every inch of him felt familiar, wonderfully so, like the memory of a dream, whispers of happiness that had once been hers. When his body, finally naked, covered hers, images flooded her mind, overwhelming her senses and pushing her over the edge.

' _ **Swear it.'  
**_ _ **'I'm yours. Oh, god, Cas, I swear, I've always been yours.'**_

"I'm yours," she gasped, fingernails digging into his back. She arched, feeling with delight the shudders that ran through his body, how her name moaned in his rough voice made her incapable of coherent thought. She wasn't even aware of what she was saying. "I've always been yours."

He kissed her, fiercely, and she didn't think anymore.

* * *

"All right, that's it, I'm going up there," Dean announced, standing and throwing his beer away.

He ran into Sam coming down the stairs. The younger Winchester's hair was still damp from the shower, his blue work-shirt clean and smelling like laundry detergent. Dean tried to push past him but he stepped to block the path.

"Let me through, Sam," Dean said in an irritated voice. Sam darted his eyes to Bobby, who was cleaning a rifle at his desk, and cleared his throat.

"I, ah, I don't think that's such a good idea right now, Dean."

"Why not?" Dean barked.

Sam coughed delicately. "I think they're, uh, busy."

"So what? I'm sick of sitting around. It's time to get this show on the road. "He attempted to push past Sam but again the taller brother blocked the path. Dean rolled his eyes. "Look, Sam, I know you care about _feelings_ and all that crap, but…"

"Dean, they're _busy_ ," Sam said, raising his eyebrows significantly. Dean held up his hands.

"Wait a minute, like sock-on-the-doorknob busy?" he hissed, trying to keep Bobby from hearing. Sam nodded, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth. "And you listened in?" Dean asked. "Perv."

"I didn't mean to!" Sam protested. "I was just on my way to take a shower and…"

"Uh huh," Dean said with clear skepticism, but stepped back, shaking his head. "Man, that angel moves fast."

Bobby cleared his throat. Both looked at him with worry, but the old hunter simply sighed in irritation, put his gun down, and walked out of the room. Dean grinned.

"I guess it's a 'see no evil, hear no evil' kinda thing, huh?"

Sam punched him in the arm.

Castiel appeared at the top of the stairs, back in his trench coat like nothing had happened, apparently unruffled except for the fact that he was adjusting his tie. The Winchesters watched him approach with wry looks on their faces.

The angel waited until he had reached the last step to speak. "She doesn't remember much, and the spell still holds," he informed them gravely. "But she is willing to help us break it."

"I don't believe this," Dean groaned, rolling his eyes. "Girl freaks out and doesn't listen to a word we say, but fifteen minutes alone with you and suddenly she's jumped on the bandwagon. Unbelievable."

"It was longer than fifteen minutes," Castiel informed him, a smug grin curling at the edge of his previously stoic mouth.

Sam let out a cough that might have been covering a laugh. Dean looked like he wanted to say something snarky, but Eli was already coming down the stairs, her clothes a little wrinkled and face flushed. She brushed blonde hair back from her face and smiled at them tentatively. "Uh, hi. Sorry for freaking out earlier. I guess it's possible you're not _completely_ crazy…" She shared a glance with Castiel and instantly turned a deeper red. "So what's the plan?"

* * *

"You want me to _what_?"

"It's not that big of a deal, Eli," Sam pointed out, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Yeah, it's not like we're asking you to kill the guy," Dean said, idly checking and cleaning a shotgun. "Just get him here."

"So you can kill him?" she asked hotly. "I don't think so."

"We're not going to kill him," Sam said in a patient voice. Beth shook her head.

"Uh uh, no way. Tom has _nothing_ to do with this."

"He has everything to do with this," Castiel rasped. He was sitting next to her on the couch, his long fingers lightly touching her knee. Beth hated how distracting his proximity was, how she could smell him and it made her heart perpetually race. "He is the reason you are like this."

"Tom? _Tom_?" she asked, shaking her head. "He's my best friend. He's a total nerd. He watches Battlestar Galactica and plays the piano and makes jokes about string theory. He's harmless!"

"He is not harmless," Castiel insisted. "He is a very powerful and potentially dangerous being who wiped your memories and convinced you that you are someone else. It's possible that the people you most interact with aren't even real, just well-planned illusions to keep you tethered to that life."

"What do you mean?" Beth asked, alarmed. "Are you telling me that my friends aren't real? Lucy isn't real? _My parents aren't real_?"

"It's possible," Castiel said delicately. "I believe that your memories are not wholly false; they are still Elijah's memories, just…twisted." He paused. "Then again, it's also possible that certain people in your life are entirely made-up."

"That's…great," Beth mumbled, sinking back into the couch and covering her face with her hands. "Great great great. Fuck my life."

"Can we get back to the subject at hand?" Bobby asked grumpily. He was back at his desk, still cleaning the same rifle even though it was sparkling, like he just needed something to do with his hands. "If this _Tom_ is the one who placed the whole spell, he's the one who can break it. We need him here. ASAP."

"If it turns out we're wrong, we'll let him go," Sam promised. "Nothing will happen to your friend."

"We're not wrong," Castiel said in a low voice. Sam shot him a look.

Beth still hesitated. "I don't know…" she said slowly, looking at her hands. Dean put his gun down and set to filling shot-gun shells with rock salt.

"Come _on_ , Eli," he snapped. "I thought you were starting to remember. This woebegone act is getting old."

She glared at him. "I don't remember," she hissed. "I just get these…flashes. Moments, words, voices, but without context. I can still call bullshit on this whole thing. I'm helping you because I'm tired of waiting for destiny and then being too scared to take it when it finally arrives. Because, crazy or not, I need to believe in this right now. But _don't push me,_ Winchester. I'm not doing this for you."

"Yeah, you're doing it for angel sex," Dean retorted without thinking. Bobby slammed his gun down on the table, startling all of them.

"Whole damn world is in danger and you're arguing like spoiled children," he growled. "Just _make the call_."

Beth swallowed. Things were starting to feel more and more familiar.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Tom paced her apartment frantically, searching for any clue as to where she had gone. Lucy was no help; she just babbled something about fake police officers and then refused to say any more. He was pretty sure he knew what happened ( _that arrogant asshole fucks things up once again!)_ but he still couldn't find her. It was driving him crazy.

If he didn't take drastic measures, and soon, everything was going to fall apart.

"Fuck!" he yelled to the empty apartment, kicking over a chair. "Fuck fuck fuck!"

In his pocket, his phone buzzed.

The number was unknown. Tom flipped it open and cautiously put it to his ear. "Hello?"

_"Tom?"_

"Eli, thank God," he said, sitting on the couch. "Where are you?" He paused. "Are you crying?"

The voice on the phone sniffled hugely. _"I'm fine, don't worry. I'm just… freaked out. Tom, I have no idea what's going on. You have to help me. With my parents so far away… you're the only one I can turn to._ "

"What's happening?" he demanded. "Where are you?"

_"Some house, I… don't know. These men, they…"_ She took a huge, gasping breath. _"They drugged me, and kidnapped me. Tom, they're insane. I'm afraid that they're going to hurt me. They keep insisting that I'm someone else and they locked me in this metal room last night and there are guns everywhere and I, I…_ " She broke off, sobbing quietly.

"Hey, it's okay, I'm gonna get you out of there," he said soothingly. A deep relief curled in his stomach, relief that she was scared, that she didn't believe them. But why would she? It would take more than a couple of familiar faces to break all of the hard work he'd put into her. Even that douchebag angel wouldn't be able to do it. "But I need to know where you are. Eli? Can you tell me anything?"

_"I... don't know, but this phone…I stole it, they don't know it's missing yet. Don't…"_ She trailed off, sounding utterly hopeless and confused. " _Don't cell phones have like, a GPS in them or something? Isn't it traceable? You could go to the police…"_

_Smart girl_ , he thought, smiling a little. All these years around technology and even he hadn't thought of that.

"I can track it," he promised. "But believe me, the police won't do any good. I'm coming for you myself."

* * *

Beth snapped the phone closed and wiped tears from her eyes before turning to the four men with a triumphant smile. They were all staring at her, aghast. "What?" she asked. "I did theater in college."

Bobby and Sam looked shaken as they stared at Beth's still-red face. Dean just shook his head, downing his beer. "Dude, I am never trusting another word that comes out of your mouth."

"Regardless of her methods, Eli did what she was supposed to," Castiel said sternly. "He's coming. We had better prepare."

 


	8. In Which Shooting Yourself In The Face Is Apparently A Pretty Good Idea

 

 

The plan went surprisingly smoothly, up to a point.

Tom burst into the house like a tall, skinny superhero, all righteous anger and simmering power. Beth was standing in the far corner of the room, her head down, hands clasped in front of her. She felt horrible, betraying her best friend like this, for crazy people who kidnapped her, for a husky-voiced stranger she'd slept with only a few hours after meeting him. But she had gone too far now to stop. She had to know the truth.

He started to cross to her, something dark and wild in his eyes, and didn't even notice the light flare from the shadows and drop to the floor until it ignited in a flaming circle.

"Walked right into that," Dean drawled, stepping in to view as Tom spun around in panic. "I guess love really is blind."

"What…what is this?" Tom sputtered, staring at the dancing flames. He looked across the room, to the figure still standing with her hands folded demurely. "Eli, what's going on?"

"Holy oil, that's what's going on," Dean said conversationally as Bobby, Sam, and Castiel emerged from the kitchen. "The best way to trap an angel. Though you of course already knew that."

Tom laughed weakly. "Angel? Is this some kind of a joke? Who are you guys?" He looked back to the blonde in the corner. "Eli? Please tell me that this is some sick prank."

She looked at him for the first time, her eyes shining with real tears. "I'm sorry, Tom," she said. He shook his head.

"Look, Eli, whatever these nutjobs have told you, it isn't true. You have to trust me."

"Oh, she'll trust you," Dean interrupted, stepping between them like he was afraid she was going to change her mind. "Just as soon as you hop out of that holy fire. Then the two of you can be on your merry way and we'll never bother you again. Promise."

"You mean jump through the fire that is up to my waist?" Tom replied sarcastically. "Yeah, I'll get right on that. By the way, you have any flame-retardant pants I can borrow, or should I just expect to get my balls burned off?"

"Suck it up, you pansy, and just jump through the damn fire," Bobby growled in his flat Midwestern accent. "Unless you can't."

"I am not jumping through a fire for you," Tom hissed.

"Just do it, Tom," Beth pleaded. "For me, please, step outside the circle."

Tom looked at her with wounded eyes. "I do that, Eli, and I'm justifying everything these fucked up loonies are doing," he said, stepping as close to the edge of the circle as he dared and staring at her. "This is all part of their deranged fantasy, don't you see that? I mean, oil that traps angels? Come on! Don't tell me you believe that crap!"

Beth hesitated. Tom looked as he always had, curls falling into his eyes, something vaguely cherubic about his face, mouth soft and pleading. He was very real; it was so much easier to believe this insanity when she didn't have her normal life staring her in the face, encased in a ring of fire. "I…I don't know what I believe," she whispered, her hands shaking. "I don't know what's real anymore."

_**'You are not supposed to fuck with the apocalypse!'** _

"Eli," he said coaxingly, his eyes boring into hers. "Come on. You know me. I don't have to jump through fire to prove to you who I am. If I cave to what they want, you're just validifying their insanity. Now put out the fire and we'll walk away from this, together. Trust me."

_**'Lesson number one: Don't trust angels.'** _

"I…" she started, then trailed off, glancing at Castiel. He was watching her with worried eyes, his brow deeply furrowed, and she felt like she knew that look, like she had seen it a thousand times and her fingers had smoothed away that crease a thousand more. But this, all of this, was so crazy, was so absolutely and utterly insane that betraying her best friend on the gamble that it was true was … cruel.

"It's me or them, Eli," Tom said. "Please, listen to reason."

' _ **Will you please stop being such a pain in the ass and just take what is being offered, for once in your life?'**_

"Just jump through the fire, asshole!" Dean barked. "Or we'll throw you in!"

This was crazy.

Something Castiel said to her earlier floated by her ear like a guiding hand: _'You have always had, in my experience, the unsurpassed ability to believe in the crazy.'_

She was through being sane, playing it safe. She wanted to believe in something again, the way she did when she was a little girl and she would sit on her roof and stare at the stars, dreaming of greater things, of destiny. She had to make a stand, for that girl, and also for the woman everyone thought she was. For Elijah Grant.

"No," Beth said firmly, stopping all of them in their tracks. "I won't betray my friend on the off-chance that this is all true. If we're all crazy then Tom shouldn't have to be the one to pay for it."

"Eli, we have to…" Sam started, but she cut him off, turning instead to Castiel.

"I'm supposed to be this super-powered half-angel, right? Godlike powers all bound up?"

He nodded, looking confused. "That summarizes it… well."

"Good. Then if this is all true, it shouldn't matter if I do this."

Before anyone realized what she was doing Beth grabbed one of the many loaded handguns littering the top of the desk, flipped the safety off, put it to her head, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

The first thing Eli was aware of was voices, reaching her like she was underwater. Everything else was black, with bursts of pain like white fire flaring behind her eyes.

"I knew it; I fucking knew it was you!"

"Don't try and play it off like _you_ were the one to guess who I really was. Let me take a shot in the dark: Sammy was the brains behind this operation."

"Don't call me Sammy, douchebag. How are you even alive, anyway?"

Feeling began to return to her fingers and toes, pins and needles crawling along her skin. Eli was suddenly aware of the taste of blood in her mouth, how slick the surface of her face felt.

"Ask shoots-herself-in-the-face over there. She's the one who went nuclear and dragged Sam out of the pit and shot the littlest Winchester's soul back up to Heaven. Guess she thought I deserved a little lovin' too, since God only ever seems inclined to bring darling bro Cas back."

Dimly, she realized that she was Eli again. Not Beth, who felt smaller and less real with each passing moment, like the memory of a dream. She tried to open her eyes but the light was too strong; it seared into her retinas, the pain almost welcoming.

"Why? Why did you do this?" Castiel's harsh voice was instantly familiar, soothing to her even in its anger. The other voice, the less-familiar but still recognizable one, huffed.

"Because you had everything!" it yelled, calm façade breaking. "Nothing little Castiel, angel of _Thursday_ , gets killed not once, but _twice,_ and brought back to life by Dad himself. But oh no, it doesn't stop there. He gets promoted to near-Archangel status. He gets to be _sheriff of Heaven._ He _saves the world._ He _gets the girl._ Oh, and it's better than that—after thousands of years of angels forced to be emotionless soldiers, who gets to not only fall in love but _take his lover to Heaven with him_? Cas, of course! And what do I get? I'm one of the most powerful mother-fuckers in the history of _history_ , and the moment I stand up for the cause, I'm killed like a kid squishing a bug. And God doesn't even think to bring me back! One of his eldest sons, and it's only thanks to the mercyof a powered-up abomination that I'm alive at all!"

"Don't call her that!"

"My whole rant, and _that's_ what you focus on? Man, you really are whipped."

Dean's voice cut through the conversation. "Wait a minute, so you're saying this whole thing was driven by revenge?"

"Mmm, not revenge, I'd go more with petty jealousy."

"Are you fucking _serious_?"

Eli found that if she concentrated really hard, she could twitch her fingers. She was also aware that she could feel the hole in her skull slowly closing, like a magnet was pulling it together. She managed to crack her eyes open; the scene in front of her was tilted, the blurry figures standing at a ninety-degree angle as they argued heatedly.

"Heaven is in the midst of a rebellion," Castiel rasped angrily. "Even as we speak Archangels are attempting to hunt down Elijah and force her to release Lucifer and Michael from the cage. The apocalypse could still happen, the world could still end. And this is what you do with your power? After she brought you back to life, this is how you repay her?"

"Don't you idiots get it?" the voice snapped, and Eli blinked woozily. The images were growing clearer: she could now see that Tom was gone, or at least, he didn't look like Tom anymore. What had been her friend was now shorter, his once-black hair a mop of brown, his face similar but _different_ , the mouth smaller, cheekbones less visible, eyes not as dark. "I did this to repay her, because the world could end and I needed to do something!"

There was silence for a moment, before Dean barked: "What the hell does that mean?"

"She came to me," the Archangel Gabriel said, his voice quieter, even a little sad. Eli shifted her body, her muscles trembling and weak. "Said she needed help, needed some of her powers released. Like it would help. Like it wouldn't be the same three-ring circus all over again."

"It would have helped," Castiel insisted. Gabriel shook his head, his outline becoming stronger as Eli's vision cleared.

"Yeah, because it went so well last time," he said sarcastically. "You think with some extra powers you idiots would be able to take on Heaven? Even a small rebellion is potent. And these are _Archangels_ you're up against. You would have been smited before you got within metaphysical miles of the place."

"You could have helped us," Dean pointed out angrily. "But I guess that last-minute burst of courage you got when facing Lucifer was a one-time deal. You're still nothing but a scared, pissant little…"

"I did help you," Gabriel insisted evenly, his usual joking, sarcastic tone completely serious. "I'm sick of all the fighting. Lucifer is safe in the cage again. Giving wonder-girl her powers back and throwing her into the field of battle would be like waving a juicy steak around in front of hungry dogs. They would have taken her, and the whole damn apocalypse would have started all over again. So I did what I thought was best. She wanted help, I gave it to her. Just…not the help she was expecting."

"You wiped her memories," Castiel stated in a low, dangerous voice. "You hid her from us."

"And conveniently made yourself into her best friend, someday lover," Dean interjected. "Oh yeah, you were doing it for the good of mankind."

"She was unhappy!" Gabriel burst out, and everyone fell silent. It was at that unfortunate moment that Eli finally found her vocal cords again.

"Ohh, fuck, son of a bitch," she moaned blearily, and everyone's attention turned back to her. She coughed up blood into her palm, weakly flailing her limbs in a pathetic attempt to sit up. "It hurts…"

"…and the princess awakens," Gabriel deadpanned, watching through narrowed eyes as Castiel rushed to her side, crouching in blood and lifting her into his arms.

"Shut up," Dean warned the trapped Archangel, "or we'll Molotov your ass." Gabriel snapped his jaw shut with an audible click.

"What happened?" Eli asked in a pained, groggy voice as Castiel lowered her onto the couch, his hands gently wiping blood from her head. Sam emerged from the kitchen with a damp towel, which the angel accepted gratefully.

"You shot yourself," Castiel said, dabbing at her face with the towel.

"In the _face_!" Dean added for emphasis, sounding a little too peppy for the whole situation.

"Your powers kicked in just enough to heal you," Castiel continued, brushing bloody hair from her forehead. "Like you gambled they would. You are very lucky. If you had been human…"

Eli coughed again, and Sam, like a mother hen, rushed into the kitchen to get water. She reached out with red-stained fingers and gently touched the curve of Castiel's face. "Cas," she murmured, smiling through the pain. "I've missed you so much."

"Eli?" he asked tentatively. She nodded.

"Beth is gone now. Well, not gone, but… faded. I guess the power surge of healing myself from a gunshot wound to the head was enough to break the illusion. I'm me again."

"And the people rejoiced," Gabriel said dryly. Dean spun around and pointed a threatening finger in the Archangel's direction.

"Molotov," he warned.

Sam came out of the kitchen and handed the water to Castiel; Eli's hands were shaking too badly to hold the cup, so she drank through a straw as he held it near her face.

"Thanks so much," she said when she was finished, leaning back against the couch with a sigh. "God, my throat feels like it's on fire. And my head feels like…"

"You just shot yourself in the face?" Dean piped in helpfully. Sam shot him a look.

"Dude. Enough."

"I'm as happy as the next person that Eli's Eli again, but now that we're all present and accounted for you think we can end this little drama of ours?" Bobby said gruffly, causing them all to jerk to attention. "What exactly are we going to do with the trapped Archangel in my living room? Can't keep the fire burning forever."

"I vote Molotov," Dean said, cracking open a beer and sitting with his feet propped up on the coffee table. "Cas, you can do it. You can even say 'assbutt' if you want."

"Seconded," Sam said, leaning against the doorway and accepting a beer from Bobby, who nodded.

"Thirded. I'm sick of this angel shit." He shot a quick glance to Castiel. "No offense."

"Hey!" Gabriel said, holding up his hands and looking alarmed. "Let's not be rash. Doesn't anyone want to hear my side of the story?"

"Not really," Dean and Sam said simultaneously. Dean was already reaching for the holy oil, cheerfully pouring some into an empty glass container he had commandeered specially for this occasion.

"Someone get me a rag, will you?" he asked the room. "I already got a lighter."

"Stop," Castiel said authoritatively, standing and fixing the Winchesters with a glare, which he soon swung onto the trapped Archangel. "No matter what he did, Gabriel is my brother. He should get to tell his side of the story."

Gabriel dropped his hands in relief. "Thanks, bro," he said, still making his words sound a little mocking. "But I'm not sure you'll like what you're gonna hear."

Castiel glanced at Eli; she was zoning out, her eyes hazy, hands gently prodding her bloody skull as if expecting to find a hole that wasn't there. She was exhausted, and weak, and covered in blood, but her light shined again, her aura untarnished, and when she caught his eye the recognition and love he saw there was enough to make all of his doubts disappear.

"It doesn't matter whether I like it or not," he said, turning back to his brother. "Tell us."

 


	9. In Which Zombies Are Defeated By Nerf Guns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**Three months ago...** _

He knew she was looking for him. That's why he plopped himself right down in the middle of a big, abandoned warehouse. Ah, the memories.

She found him, weirdly enough, via prayer. Well, not really prayer, more like shouting into the wind that he owed her, Goddamnit, and now she was coming to collect. So he sent a little psychic wave her way and made sure she got to where he wanted her to be.

He watched her pull into the empty lot in some rat-trap of a car that looked like it would burst into flames at any moment ( _heh, flaming car, that reminded him, he really needed to talk to Az sometime, seeing as the golden-haired fairy had already successfully halted one impending apocalypse)._ She got out, hair for once not in some ridiculous style and blowing softly in the wind. He examined her with slightly-narrowed eyes; she was pretty but just so damn fresh-scrubbed, all freckles and button nose and mouth that was too prone to smile hugely, goofily, still like a kid despite everything she had seen. It irked him, for some reason.

She wasn't smiling then. Instead she had her gun drawn and was moving quickly to the warehouse doors as if expecting a trap. But he knew better, as did she, really. He wouldn't trap her for Heaven. That would imply working with the bastards.

So why was he here now? Why did he agree to meet with her when he could have so easily just scurried away, to the other side of the world, the other side of the universe? He heard Barcelona (the planet, not the city) was nice this time of year. So why was he here?

"You're here," her voice said, vaguely surprised, and he jerked to attention, pushing the uncomfortable questions out of his head with practiced ease. "I'm surprised."

"Well, you did bring me back to life," he said blandly ( _of course, that's why he was here, duh)_. "Never got to say Thanks for that."

She waved her hand dismissively, sliding her gun into the back of her jeans. "Don't thank me. Just try not to be your usual douchey self for the five minutes this conversation is going to take, kay?"

"I will try," he said in mock-seriousness. She cracked a smile despite herself.

"So, I guess you know what happened?" she asked, pacing restlessly. There was an air of fake nonchalance in her voice that was betrayed by her anxious movements.

Gabriel shrugged, conjuring up a leather couch and sinking into it. After a moment he created a table to rest his feet on as well. "Angelic rebellion. Led by Remiel, heh, I'm not surprised. Guy was always kind of a dick. And Sariel, she's a little slow. Always wanted world peace a bit too badly, you know? The kind that watches commercials of puppies in cages and starts to cry." He rolled his eyes and sighed, tilting his head back against the soft leather. "Clearly they got your grace out, that damn loophole that I guess dear old Dad didn't see fit to close. And now you want me to…what?" He lifted his head to stare at her again. "Help you out? Hulk you up for the big battle? Suit up and join the fray myself? I hear I look quite dashing in armor."

"All of the above?" she suggested. "This is a big problem, Gabe. We could really use an Archangel on our side."

"Did you just call me Gabe?" he asked, and grinned. "I like it. It's been a long time since anyone's called me anything but Loki." He paused, frowning. "You're also being suspiciously nice to me."

She smiled at him, and there it was again, that strange feeling in his gut at that sweet smile ( _sweet? Did he just think of something as sweet? Was he losing his mind?)._ He pushed it down forcefully.

"I was only a bitch before because I wanted you to kill me," she said, shrugging. "That, and you were being a dick. So come on, Gabe. Help us out. You don't want the apocalypse any more than we do."

"And does the Scooby gang know you're off consorting with a supposedly dead Archangel?" he asked, ignoring her question. "Are they going to trap me in another ring of fire if I don't comply?"

She looked insulted. "No! They don't even know you're alive. Not even Cas knows. After your last minute act of heroism I thought that you deserved to be left alone. That's why I didn't tell them about Ch…" she stopped abruptly. "Nothing."

"Oh yes, Cas, the golden boy. How is everyone's favorite hero? Off brooding somewhere? Busy not understanding the most basic cultural references? Playing nursemaid to the Winchesters?" He was surprised at the venom in his own voice, but damnit, it wasn't _fair_. Castiel got everything. Recognition, power, friends, love. Not that he _wanted_ any of that stuff, anyway. Of course not. He was just happy to be alive. Still…

"He's in Heaven," Eli was saying in a huff, crossing her arms over her ratty, over-large sweatshirt. "Recon work. He'll probably be back soon, but…"

Gabriel tuned her out. His gaze flickered to the scowling blonde in front of him, and wondered, briefly, so briefly it didn't really count as a thought, because why the hell would he ever think of something as stupid as this, what it would be like to make her smile that dumb, goofy smile of hers every day. This was followed up by a slightly less stupid, and more in-character thought, of what she would look like naked. This led to _another_ thought…

"Are you listening to a word I'm saying?"

"Words are coming out of your mouth, I'm sure they are very important," he said, standing up and stretching.

"You," she said in a loud, too-slow voice, pointing first at him, then at herself. "Help me. Stop the world. From going boom. Yes?" She gave a double-thumbs up, a fake grin on her face. "Do you understand?"

"You're snarky, but nice," Gabriel said, walking toward her. "Too nice. I don't trust it."

"I told you," she said, dropping her hands, starting to get frustrated.

"It's more than that," he said, studying her intently. "You're enjoying this, aren't you? Running for your life and all that. I always knew you were a bit masochistic."

"Shut it," she warned. He peered into her eyes, trying not to notice how summer green they were.

"Heaven not quite what you expected? Or was it married life that was getting you down? Something's going on in that little yellow head of yours."

Foolishly, she met his eyes, and the Archangel accidentally got a look into her mind. The sadness was overwhelming, nearly sending him stumbling back. She felt useless and lost, and hated herself for not appreciating Heaven, but hated Heaven more because it had been driving her _insane_ , like a splinter in her brain, and she felt bad and wrong and guilty for not being as happy with him as she should have been, because he was wonderful and she loved him so much, and now all of that was over anyway and he might die and the world was ending and it was her fault, all her fault, but she was still just so terrified of eternity and hated being so scared all of the time like the future was a long blank space that would never end, it would never end, she just wanted it to _end_ …

She broke her gaze and looked away stonily. "Don't ever do that again," she warned in a low voice.

Gabriel stepped back, for once actually looking abashed. "I, ah…sorry."

There was silence for a moment. Eli cleared her throat. "And, uh, we're not married," she said awkwardly, scuffling her boot into the dirty ground. "I mean, angels don't even _get_ married."

"Angels can do whatever they want," he pointed out, and she just looked downward, a curtain of blonde covering her face. Something about her pathetic stance, that glimpse into her overwhelming sadness, made him want to help her. But her plan was stupid, and besides, he didn't go running around helping half-human freaks just because they did something as piddling as bringing his sorry ass back from the dead. If he hulked her out, there was that much more of a chance that Heaven would get their perfectly-manicured hands on her, and then where would he be? So really, he couldn't help her, even if she did look rather adorably like a beaten puppy at the moment. _Stop it! Adorable is not in your vocabulary!_

She looked back at him, her mouth twisted into a small, confused frown, likely wondering what he was thinking about, what he would say next. He felt a stab of pity. _Biggest problem a girl like that should have is what outfit to put on in the morning,_ he thought wryly. _Not saving the world._

And then Gabriel got a wonderful, awesome, fantastic, legendary idea.

It wasn't that he wanted _her_ , no no no. Not that. But he did want to take something of Castiel's. Knock him down a peg or two. Give the golden boy a little grief, and help save the world at the same time. It was only a bonus that it would make her happy, wipe away that pain and indecision and sadness from her mind. That sounded about right.

"All right," he said, surprising her. "I'll help you."

"You…will?" she asked suspiciously, her eyes narrowing. "…really?"

"Really," he promised.

"No catch?"

"Darling, there's always a catch," he said blithely. "But I promise it won't be anything you're not prepared to deal with."

She pursed her lips. "Why do I feel like I'm making a deal with the devil?"

"Devil's gone, baby doll," he said, grinning wolfishly. "There's just me. Now you want help or not?"

"You'll help us save the world," she said slowly, still eyeing him with suspicion. He nodded, taking a step forward, dangerously close to invading her personal space.

"I'll help the world be saved, yes."

She jutted her jaw out at him. "Then do it."

"Hmm," he said, smirking at her. "Thing is, I've been thinking, demons have the right idea. Contracts and all that. Deals. Promises."

"What does that mean?" Eli asked warily, biting her lip in a motion that was entirely too sexy for her own good. _No! Stop! Bad brain!_

"You know how angels work," he said, still standing too close. "It's all about agreement. We can do nothing you don't agree to."

"So?"

"So I'm gonna need your permission to do whatever I need to do to help stop the apocalypse. No matter what it is."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, yes, you have my permission to help us stop the apocalypse."

He brushed hair from her cheek, fingers lingering on her skin. "I told you," he said, oddly serious. "I like how the demons do it better."

She stared at him for a moment, then backed up and near-shouted: "I'm not gonna kiss you, you perv!"

"Oh come on," he said, lifting his palms to the air. "Is it really that bad?" He twirled around like he was in a fashion show, despite the fact that his current outfit was baggy jeans and a band t-shirt, his hair floppy over his forehead. He stopped abruptly, facing her again, his grin nearly cracking his face. "I won't bite…probably."

Incredibly, she smiled, biting her lip again and shaking her head. "You are a freak of nature," she said, and there was something almost fond in her tone that made him feel weird and squiggly and gross inside. She laughed in a self-mocking way. "Fine. End of the world and all, shouldn't be freaking out over one little kiss."

"My point exactly," he said, his mouth suddenly dry. She stepped closer and his eyes drifted to her lips. She had some kind of chapstick on; they were too soft to be natural and gave off a light scent of mint. He hated that he wanted to taste her; he was Loki, for Christ's sake, he had seduced thousands, if not millions of innocent girls over eons. She was his baby brother's half-human monster of a girlfriend. A means to an end. So why were his knees a little weak?

Eli waved a finger at him as he took one last step forward. "No tongue," she warned. He smirked.

"Can't promise anything, Blondie."

He ran a finger along her jaw, actually a little nervous. Her eyes were scrunched up as if waiting for an atom bomb to drop. He smiled, a real genuine smile, and gently brushed his lips to hers.

He could taste her lip balm, and beyond that the warmth of her skin. He pressed harder, coaxing her, his hand moving up to bury itself in her hair, and incredibly she began to respond, her mouth opening just a little to kiss him back. It was sweet, and very tentative; he liked how she seemed to be kissing him without realizing it, her hands knotting into the folds of his shirt, unconsciously pulling him closer. He traced the inside of her lower lip with his tongue, curious to see how far he could go, and was surprised to hear the tiniest moan escape her lips.

Unfortunately, the sound seemed to surprise her as much as it did him. She jerked away, pulling her hands back and blushing furiously.

"I, ah…okay. There you go. Are we done now? Deal sealed or whatnot?" she blabbered, not meeting his eyes.

"Only if you want to be," he said smugly. She shot him a glare.

"I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, tell it to your priest," he said. "Oh, and by the way, remember what I said that one time?" She looked at him blankly. "Don't trust angels. Boom."

He touched two fingers to her forehead and Elijah Grant ceased to be.

* * *

It all seemed so simple. Elijah Grant, Nephilim, was the problem, the way to the apocalypse, so she had to disappear. It was the universe's best witness protection program: a cover so deep that not even she knew about it.

Putting himself into her fairy-tale life seemed like a good idea at first, to keep an eye on her and make sure the other Archangels didn't find out what he had done and swoop in to take her when she was defenseless. He made himself her best friend, someone she would trust and never, ever expect to lie to her.

Things started to get a bit messy after that.

It was almost too easy. He went into her memories, subtly changing and replacing and adding certain scenes. He didn't quite know why he made himself look like someone she would find attractive; it was simple enough, but it vaguely bothered him that that image was somewhat Castiel-like: dark hair, lean, pretty eyes. He put her into grad school, with memories of traveling the world for a few years to explain why she still studying at 26. (Technically, he guessed she would be 27 by now, but being an angel had stopped the aging process, and really, who wanted to tack on an unnecessary year to their life anyway?) He even whipped up parents for her, and, as an afterthought, a secondary best friend, someone who would champion his best interests and provide support when he couldn't be there. He had a lot of fun making Lucy; he put more thought into her than he had into any illusion, even attempted to craft a sense of sentience and free will.

 _Like a cylon sleeper agent,_ he thought smugly. _Boo yah._ _Top that, Dad._

He got to pop in every once in a while to savor his younger brother's comeuppance. It was a strangely triumphant feeling, watching Castiel's misery, but then again, he always did like to bring down those that had too much. Overall, this was the best game he had played in a while.

He didn't stop to think what it would be like to be near her every day.

Elijah Grant, hunter and Nephilim and world-saver, was bad-ass and swore like a sailor and had eyes that had seen very dark things. Elizabeth Graham (so sue him, he liked the nickname Eli) was an unabashed nerd, a bit of a gun freak, loved bad movies, was very, very silly, and had a surprisingly nasty revenge streak that he liked very much.

He liked her, _as a person_. He _had fun with her._ That was…uncalled for. That was the universe mocking him. That was cruelty beyond anything that Loki could dish out.

He realized this unfortunate fact as they crouched in the bushes, brightly-colored bands around their arms and semi-automatic nerf guns in their hands. Eli (or Beth, as she preferred to be called), had war-paint on her face and was grinning like a maniac.

"Okay, so there's about twenty of them," she hissed, loading her gun with tiny foam bullets. On the other side of the bushes, blocking the way to safety, students with bands around their foreheads lurked in packs, waiting to prey on anyone foolish enough to come close. "I've got agents in the trees, ready to cover us with sock-grenades. We've got a team on each side of the building waiting for my signal. Do you have your foam sword?"

"You," he said, looking at her wind-reddened face with a smile, "are taking this entirely too seriously."

The game was Humans vs. Zombies, where university students tried to survive zombie 'attacks' by shooting the enemy with nerf guns, throwing balled-up socks at them, or whacking them with foam swords. It was stupid and childish and strangely addicting, especially considering that real zombies were so damn creepy.

"This is life or death, sergeant!" she snapped, adjusting the band on her arm. "Now, we're safe once we get off-campus. You crashing at my place tonight? If we survive, I'll buy the pizza and beer. Plus, I put itching powder in crazy psycho-bitch roommate's underwear, and believe me, you don't want to miss that." She waggled her eyebrows. "Tempted? And I need your big brain to help me with my dissertation. Life can't be all about the zombocalypse."

She beamed at him, and he realized, with a sinking feeling, that he _liked_ her. He hadn't truly liked another living being in…well, a very long time. Especially not one that he wasn't sleeping with.

"You are five years old," he said, shaking his head. She reached up, smearing mud across his cheeks and forehead so that he had war-paint too.

"I know. That's why you love me."

He ignored that last part. "We doing this, Commander Graham?"

"For humanity!" They saluted with their Nerf guns, and Beth pushed the bushes apart with a fierce "Charggggeee!" and the battle descended.

And for those brief months, she was happy. Or so he thought. Maybe, on some unconscious level, she knew it was wrong the whole time. Maybe she was screaming inside, the real Eli dying just a little every day. Maybe the only person who was really happy at those moments…was him.

 


	10. In Which Gabe Realizes That Playing God Is Tricky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Present day..._ **

Of course, Gabriel didn't tell them all of the mushy stuff. He stuck to the bare bones of the story, and made sure to include the kiss, perhaps exaggerating its extent a tiny bit, just to see Castiel's face go a little whiter.

So he was being kind of mean. So what? He was stuck in a ring of fire facing, if not death, than excruciating pain via holy oil, his carefully constructed illusions shattered and the world back on track to be ending any day now. Plus, Beth was gone, and that soft look in Eli's eyes was directed, like a cartoon puppy, back at his stupid, stoic, emotionless brother again. It made him sick. He deserved a little revenge.

After he finished talking the group huddled in the kitchen to discuss his fate.

"I don't know," Sam was saying in a hushed voice. "I mean, what he did was wrong, but it does seem like he was doing it for the right reasons."

"Yeahhhh," Dean said, somehow infusing that one word with all the sarcasm in the world. "Seems like his version of 'saving the world' was really just a way to make Cas miserable and fuck with people's heads. He can't be trusted."

"I agree," Castiel said, looking troubled. He put his hands in the pockets of his trench coat and tilted his head down, his brow furrowed in thought. "But then again, he is an Archangel. Despite everything, he could be a powerful ally."

"Yeah, if you could trust him not to wipe your mind or throw you into television shows, sure, he'd be a great ally," Dean said. "In case you haven't noticed, dude's a little fucked up."

"What do you think, Eli?" Sam asked, and Eli snapped her attention from the spot on the wall she had been staring fixedly at.

"I..." she started, but couldn't seem to finish the sentence. In her mind she could still see him as Tom, still remember all of the good times they had, all the trust she had placed in him. She _hated_ that he betrayed that trust, that he had made himself so indispensable to her and in the end it was all just a game to him. But she still had good memories.

"Hello? Did shooting yourself in the head make you brain dead?" Dean asked, waving a hand in front of her face.

"Sam is right," she said after a long hesitation, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "He did the wrong thing, and probably in part for the wrong reasons…but in part for the right ones. He was trying to stop the apocalypse the best way he knew how: by hiding. And he is an Archangel, the strongest one who's not trapped in the pit. We'd be fools to discount him as an ally."

"But what he did to you," Castiel said in a low voice, his hand reaching for hers. "It's unforgivable."

She squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I know. It is. But if he's willing to help, if he's willing to behave, he might be our only chance at winning this thing. Plus, he owes me for what he did, and I think he takes debts seriously – as seriously as someone like him can take anything."

"I still have to say that this is a really stupid idea," Dean grumbled.

Bobby, leaning against the counter and drinking a beer in near-silence, shook his head and said: "Yeah, it's stupid, but she's right and we all know it." He put his beer into the sink and wiped his hands on the front of his jeans. "Come on. We have an Archangel to free, and we better hope he's not too pissed."

* * *

Gabriel was surprisingly gracious about the whole thing. He even agreed to stick around and help them, and not throw them into TV shows whenever the urge arose. All of the hunters had a different theory as to why. Sam thought that it was because he understood the seriousness of the situation and genuinely wanted to help. Dean thought that he was finding it amusing to watch them all flail around and try to stop the world from burning, the smug bastard. Bobby thought that he had some hidden agenda, but it didn't matter as long as it didn't conflict with their own. He also thought that they were going to regret trusting him, in the end. Eli thought that it was because of his debt to her, and that he really did understand that the world was ending and that maybe some shred of Tom had been real and he was trying to help her.

Castiel believed that he was doing all of this, this whole mad scheme, to take Eli away from him. Whether it was because he actually cared about her or if it was just to hurt the brother he was so jealous of didn't matter. It got under Castiel's skin, like a splinter, and he hated it. He also knew one thing, down to his very core, a strange, cold, human certainty that he had never felt before.

When all of this was over, if they survived, something was going to have to be done about Gabriel.

* * *

Eli was sitting on the back steps, staring into the frozen night air and biting her thumbnail pensively, when the smell of something warm and sweet hit her nose. She sniffed curiously and turned to find Castiel sitting next to her, a paper plate in his right hand.

"You…brought me pie?" she asked, bemused. He held it out and she took it, her fingers numb with cold. The plate was warm and sagging slightly in the middle, the pie still steaming and gooey. It was apple.

"You and Dean have an immense fondness for them," he said. "I know Dean likes to eat pie when he is sad."

"And happy, and scared, and worried, and stressed, and…" she said, laughing. Then her face turned serious. "Why do you think I am sad?"

He gave her a _don't ask stupid questions_ look. "You are sitting outside on a night when the temperature is below freezing, alone, staring into the dark. You just found out that the last few months of your life were a lie, you were betrayed by your best friend, and as Dean so enjoyed pointing out, you shot yourself in the face. You are sad. And deserving of pie."

He was completely serious, so Eli just nodded and took a bite of the quickly-cooling treat. "Mmm," she said, closing her eyes and savoring the taste. "That is some damn good pie."

Castiel looked inordinately pleased with himself. "It is from a bakery in the south of France."

She chewed for a moment, shaking her head. When she could speak again she said: "French pie. I'm a lucky girl. Don't let Dean know. He'll be pissed you didn't bring any for him." She took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. She shifted on the frozen stoop; her feet in their flimsy sneakers were cold, but she didn't have any of her old clothing. What Beth had been wearing was soaked in blood and bits of brain, so she was dressed in a pair of Dean's jeans, the belt pulled tight to hold them up, and one of Bobby's faded football sweatshirts, making her feel raggedy, like a doll stitched together out of old patches. Her hair was still damp from the shower. "And thank you. I was sad. And cold."

A moment later his trench coat was draped around her shoulders, still carrying vestiges of his heat. Eli leaned her head against his shoulder as his arm wrapped around her. "I missed you," she murmured, blinking back tears. "So much. I didn't even remember you, but I missed you, like there was a hole cut out of my life and I had nothing to fill it with."

He kissed the top of her head. "I will always find you," he promised, his voice very low. She rubbed her cold nose with the palm of her hand and pressed deeper into him, nestling her head on his chest, the pie forgotten on the stoop.

"I know."

They were silent for a moment, his body radiating that impossible angelic heat, his heart steady under her cheek. Then he said, his voice slightly raspy: "What Gabriel said…"

"I didn't make out with him!" she exclaimed, jerking back to stare at him with wild eyes. "I was just trying to seal the deal, I didn't…"

Castiel stopped her by pressing one long finger against her lips. "That was not what I was going to ask. I have more trust in you than that."

Eli dropped her gaze, embarrassed. "Oh. So, ah…what were you going to ask?"

He moved his finger to her chin and lifted it so that she was looking him in the eye. "Were you really so unhappy?" he asked, his eyes very dark and sad in the frigid night. "Were you so miserable with me?"

She shook her head fiercely. "No! Cas, God no, it wasn't…it was _never_ you."

"But you were unhappy," he said with a strange note of finality in his voice.

She bit her lip and forced herself to meet that wounded-puppy gaze. "I'm human, Cas," she said, trying to find the right words. "You've got to understand that, no matter what I may really be, no matter who my father was or whether or not I have a grace, at heart I will always be human. And that knowledge always came with a time limit. An expiration date. Death was scary, but inevitable, like sleeping after a long day. My mind… it's not built to deal with eternity. And when I looked into the future and saw that yawning blank space of _forever_ , a forever of not just hundred or thousands of years but really and truly _forever_ , past when the earth falls into the sun and the universe collapses into another singularity and this all starts all over again, I just…"

She paused and took a deep breath, her hands trembling. "It made me…sad." She tried to laugh, reaching over to smooth the lapels of his black suit jacket. "That and the fact that Matrix-Heaven was weirding me out, and then I went and nearly jump-started the apocalypse again, and you were risking your neck in Heaven and I was powerless and we were being hunted by Archangels…" He caught her hands in his and she stopped her rant. "Yeah, Cas. I was sad."

"You should have told me," he insisted. She smiled a little and laced her fingers in his.

"Yeah, but you were so happy, and who was I to spoil that?"

He pressed his forehead against hers. "Next time, tell me," he said in a husky voice. "Please."

"Okay," she whispered, tightening her grip on his hands. "Okay."

They kissed, their first real kiss since she became Eli again. He pulled her into him, so that she was nearly sitting in his lap, and moved one hand to her hair to tilt her head back and deepen the kiss. In return she fisted her hands into his white shirt and opened her mouth, glorying in the feel of him, his smell and warmth and how he could make the simple act of kissing deeply, deeply erotic, sending shivers down her spine and causing heat to pool in her belly and…

"Oh, _come on_. Cas, man, I'm glad you're getting laid again, really I am, but seriously, dudes, get a room," Dean's highly annoyed voice sounded from behind them, causing the pair to break apart abruptly. Then his tone changed. "Is that pie?"

* * *

Eli couldn't sleep that night. She was exhausted, but sleep was elusive. She slipped into strange, disturbing dreams for about four hours, but when she woke up it was still dark and Castiel was gone from the bed, off doing whatever it was he did while the humans rested.

She padded down the stairs on silent feet, ruefully twisting her hair in a knot at the back of her head and heading to the kitchen to make some tea. There was something comforting about the ritual: boiling the water, tucking the dried leaves (which she forced Bobby to keep stocked) into a battered ball and dropping it into the hot water, watching the dark strains spool outward until the whole pot was stained brown. Layering the cup with sugar, then milk, a small spoon to stir it, pouring…

"Can I have some?"

Eli nearly dropped the hot pot, tiny beads of near-boiling water splashing on her skin. "Ow! Shit." She hastily put it down and spun around, hands on her hips. "Don't _do_ that!"

For once in his life, Gabriel actually looked a bit abashed. "Oh…sorry."

She wiped her hands on a towel, realizing belatedly that her impromptu "nightgown" was actually one of Sam's old sweatshirts, freakishly large, dropping to her knees and rolled up ten times so that her hands poked out the ends. Modest, really, but it still made her feel like she was just wearing a shirt and no pants, feet bare and cold on the tile. That and the fact that she was wearing nothing under it. It was 4:00 in the morning, for God's sake. Everyone else was bound to sleep until at least 7:00. She hadn't anticipated meeting anyone in the five minutes it took to make a drink.

"What are you doing here?" she finally hissed, turning and starting to pour the tea again. "And no, you can't have any. Douchebags don't get tea."

"That's a bit petty, don't you think?" he asked, tipping his head. She stirred her tea, studiously not looking at him.

"And you would know all about petty, wouldn't you, _Tom_?"

He sighed. "Look, I know you don't want to talk to me right now—"

"Damn right I don't."

"—but I have a problem."

She paused to sip at her drink; it was perfect, hot and creamy and sweet, and tasted like home. "And you want my help? I'd laugh, but… it's really more pathetic than funny."

He sighed, irritated. "It involves you. You're gonna wanna hear me out."

"No."

He sighed again, shoving his hands in his pockets and frowning. "It's about Lucy."

That made Eli pause. She turned to him, drink still clasped in her hands and sending up small spirals of steam into the chill morning air. "Lucy doesn't exist," she said flatly. "You created her."

"Yeah, about that…" Gabriel hesitated, actually rubbing the back of his neck with one hand in a very awkward, un-Gabriel gesture. "You see, the thing is…"

"Spit it out," Eli snapped, shifting uncomfortably, her toes cold against the kitchen tiles. Gabriel sank into a chair.

"Everything I created that was fake – the memories, the voices of your parents over the phone, your social security number, job, acceptance to university – it all just vanished when I waved my hand. Poof—" He paused, actually making a gesture with his fingers that looked like a mini-explosion. "Gone. Easy-peasy."

"And?" Eli asked, hating the topic of conversation. Gabriel looked her in the eye, dead serious.

"I waved my hands, and it all disappeared. Except for Lucy. She stayed. Against my will, she stayed." He stopped, letting his words sink in. "An illusion couldn't do that."

Eli slowly sat down on a chair across from him, careful to tug the sweatshirt over her knees, tea rapidly cooling in her hands. "What are you saying?" she asked warily.

Gabriel shrugged. "I had tried something new with her. Tried to create a sense of… sentience. Free will. She can think for herself, that one. I just… think I did my job a little too well. She's not…exactly an illusion anymore."

Eli blinked rapidly. "Are you…are you trying to tell me that you accidentally created a _person_?"

He beamed, the expression disconcerting. "Pretty cool, right? I'm like _God._ "

"You…you…Lucy's _real_?" Eli stuttered, barely able to form coherent words. "You created a human being? Holy shit, Gabe, that's….holy _shit_. That's just… wrong. That's _insane_. It's _impossible_."

Something gleeful sprung up inside of him when she inadvertently used his nickname, but he suppressed it, forcing his tone into something almost resembling seriousness. "Thing is, little Lucy's in a bit of a pickle. She technically doesn't exist, and now that you're gone, she's, well, non-existent. No job, classes, apartment, parents, friends, money…you get the idea. It's a problem. And to be honest, I feel kind of bad about it. I am her maker, after all."

Eli snorted at that, then blanched. "Oh hell, I guess you are."

"Yeah," he said flatly, running a hand through his floppy brown hair. "So you gonna help me or what?"

"What can I do?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Talk to her. I dunno. I didn't _expect_ to be in this situation, but…"

"She needs help," Eli said softly, staring into her tea. "You're not lying to me? This isn't one big trick or trap or…"

"Get your boyfriend to read my mind if you want," he snapped angrily, standing up. "All I want is to make sure that she's not in a gutter somewhere. I made her, for God's sake. I'm not just gonna watch her freeze to death."

"That almost sounded like worry, Gabe," she said, peering shrewdly at him. "Tin Man's got himself a heart?"

"I've always had one, Blondie," he shot back. "Just never saw a reason to use it. Now stop being a pain in the ass and help a brother out." He paused. " _Please_."

Eli continued to stare at him, her face all warm shadows in the darkness of the kitchen. He was struck by the very tired, sad look in her eyes, a look he hadn't seen in all of the months that she was Beth. He wanted, just for a brief flicker of a moment, to wipe that sadness away the way one would wipe words from a blackboard. Then she gave him a tense, curt nod, and he tore himself away from the scene in a flurry of wings.

Eli drank her tea alone in the dark.

 


	11. In Which Lucy Wong Has A No Good, Very Bad Day

 

 

Lucy Wong was having a string of very, very bad days.

It all started when her best friend was kidnapped, literally vanishing before her eyes, by a trio of strange, pretty men. When Lucy went to the police station to file a missing persons report, she was told that the only Elizabeth Grahams who existed in the DC area were a three-year-old and a 65-year-old, and that if this was a joke, she could be arrested. Lucy left the station in confusion and despair.

The next day, Lucy showed up to class to find out that she wasn't registered for that class – or for any others. She went home, only to find that her apartment was being rented to a very nice elderly couple who said they had been living there for years. She tried her credit and debit cards, but they didn't work. Her bank said she didn't have an account. Her car wasn't where she parked it the night before. None of her friends knew her name. Her cell phone didn't get a signal. The weather was freezing, and she had twenty dollars in her pocket and nowhere to go.

Things were so bad, in fact, that she truly believed there was no possible way in Heaven or hell that her life could get any worse.

Until it did.

"Lucy?"

Lucy was huddled by the fireplace at Starbucks, sipping a free cup of water and trying to warm herself by the gas-powered flames. She glanced up at the sound of her name with an odd combination of hope and disinterest. Everyone she knew didn't remember her, or were at the very least playing some kind of cruel joke, so her first thought was that anyone calling the name Lucy was looking for someone else.

But there, looking around the café anxiously, her blonde hair in braided pigtails and shoved under a brightly-colored winter cap, was Beth.

Beth caught her eye and grinned with sudden relief. "Luc!" she cried, rushing to her friend. "Oh thank God. I was afraid you'd be frozen on a street corner somewhere. Are you okay?"

"Beth?" Lucy croaked, her jaw dropping. "You…you recognize me? Where have you been? Are you okay? Because my whole life is totally fucked and you were _kidnapped_ …"

For some reason Beth winced at the sound of her name. "Of course I recognize you. I was looking for you. And I'm fine. Big misunderstanding, really, the whole kidnapping thing. Oh, and please don't call me Beth. Eli works. You want coffee?"

Lucy just gaped at her. For some reason, the only thing that came to her mind was: "But you hate the name Eli."

She shook her head. "Nope. Was just programmed to think so. Coffee?"

Lucy ran a hand through her short hair, close to tears. Beth – sorry, _Eli_ —noticed this and immediately pulled her into a hug, resting the smaller girl's head against her shoulder and rubbing her back.

"Hey, hey there Luc, everything's cool," she murmured in soothing tones. "I'm here. We're gonna get through this."

Lucy sniffled into her shoulder. "It's just been…a really stressful couple of days," she said weakly, stepping away from the hug and rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. "It's like my life suddenly became _Neverwhere_. And not the cool, ' _running around in the sewers with the magical people'_ part. The ' _no one remembers who you are and you're facing non-existence'_ part."

"I know," Eli said calmly, and Lucy's head jerked up. "I know all about it. And here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna buy you a huge mocha latte –" Here Lucy's stomach gave a distinctive growl and Eli glanced down at it with raised eyebrows – "and some snacks and we're gonna talk this through, okay?"

Lucy nodded, dazed. "O…okay. Yeah. I'll get us a seat."

Eli settled next to her on the small squishy couch a few minutes later, her arms heaped with treats. Lucy grabbed them and began eating rapidly, getting crumbs all over her slightly dirty turtleneck and pea coat. Eli watched quietly for a few minutes, then laced her hands over her knees and began to talk.

"Okay, so I don't really know how to start this," she began just as Lucy finished her third huge muffin. Stomach satisfied, the tiny dark-haired girl wiped her hands on a napkin and turned to Eli.

"What is going on, B—Eli?" she stuttered, studying her friend. She seemed…different. Dark clothing, no makeup, sad eyes, combat boots. A little too mature for silly Beth, except for the long braids and the cherry red hat. Lucy had also glimpsed something under the leather bomber jacket that looked suspiciously like a gun. "Everything I own is gone. I wasn't kidding about the _Neverwhere_ reference—it's like I don't exist. I can't get a hold of my parents, the number has been disconnected. No one seems to remember me…except you. And where have you been?"

"I've been…man, this is harder than I thought," Eli muttered. She took a drink of coffee to stall. "I don't suppose anyone would be willing _help me_?" she near-yelled, glancing back at the floppy-haired barista. Much to Lucy's confusion, he just shot her a wink and shook his head, making a 'go on' motion with his hands. Eli groaned softly.

"Okay. Okay, I can do this. Look, Lucy, this is going to sound nuts. Completely nuts. Like, 'I should be locked in the loony-bin' nuts. But you're gonna have to trust me, okay?"

Lucy nodded slowly. "Yeah, sure. I mean, how weird can it be? I already don't exist."

"Yeah, about that…" Eli chewed on her lower lip, then sighed and put her still-steaming coffee back on the table. "There's no easy way to say this, so I'm just gonna lay it out there. You don't exist."

Lucy stared at her. "Yeah, I know. Something's going on where no one remembers me—"

"No, I mean, you literally _don't exist_. You never did. You weren't born, you were created."

Lucy tried to process what was being said. "I …don't understand. What are you talking about?"

And then Eli told her everything.

* * *

"This is a joke, right?" Lucy asked about an hour later. "This is like, some weird new story you're writing, right? Is this a fanfiction?"

"No, Lucy, I know it sounds nuts, but it's true. Angels are real, demons are real, everything that goes bump in the night is real. And I fight them."

"Because you're half-angel," Lucy said slowly. "Who was only brainwashed to think you were Beth."

Eli nodded. "I know, it's crazy. But I can prove it."

"And this…Archangel," Lucy continued, "created me out of thin air as a continuation of this illusion that was your life? That's…damn, Eli, if you're gonna write me into a story, make it have a bit of a better plot. I mean, that really sucks for me."

"It's true, Lucy," Eli said softly. "I wish there was another way to put it, but it's all true. You have to come with me. It's the only way you're going to survive. You can't make it on your own. The whole world thinks you don't exist."

Lucy shook her head fiercely. "Eli, seriously, stop. This is not funny!"

"I told you this was a mistake," a gruff voice said, and a second later a man in a trench coat with messy dark hair sat down next to Eli on the couch, his brow deeply furrowed. Lucy found her jaw dropping for at least the sixth time that day.

"That…that's the guy! The guy who appeared and then disappeared! Wha…what the hell?"

"I have to do this," Eli was saying to him in a low voice, grasping his hand. "She's my friend."

"She's one of his creations," the man said harshly, glaring at her. "She is not real. Dragging her into our lives will be helpful for no one."

"Um, sitting right here," Lucy said weakly, pointing to herself.

"We've been over this, Cas, and I'm not leaving her," Eli insisted. "Read her mind if you like. She's cool. Not a trick. And she needs our help."

"Right. Here," Lucy said, a little louder, gesturing to her face. "Eli, explanations, please."

"If you're going to insist on doing this, there is a better way," the man said, looking down at their joined hands pensively. "I could just put the information in her head."

"You…can do that?" Eli gasped. "Then why the hell have I been sitting here for the past hour trying to convince her that the insanity that is our lives is true?"

"I thought…"

"RIGHT HERE!" Lucy finally yelled, snapping both of their attentions back to her. "I need to know what the hell is going on right now! Eli, who is this guy?"

"He's my…" Eli hesitated, glancing at the man with unmistakable fondness. "He's, um…an angel."

"Of the Lord," the man clarified.

"An angel?" Lucy scoffed. "Like, fluffy wings and halos and harps?"

"My wings are not fluffy," he said sternly. "And I have never touched a harp."

"His name is Castiel," Eli said quickly. "Look, this has gotten all out of hand. I'm just gonna need for you to trust me. For five minutes, Lucy, for our friendship, just trust me. Can you do that?"

Lucy stared at her. "I am so confused right now," she said slowly. "But since you're the only person in days who seems to know who I am, who has an explanation as to what is going on, even if it is an insane one…then sure. I'll trust you."

Eli nodded, sighing. "Great. Then I'm just gonna take the easy way out." She glanced at the man (angel?) beside her. "Cas?"

He nodded, gripped Eli's hand tighter, and reached across the sofa to Lucy.

"This might feel a little uncomfortable," he apologized, touching two fingers to her forehead.

The world upended. There was the feeling of cold air, like flying, and then they were someplace else.

"They return victorious," a slightly sarcastic voice said, the first thing Lucy heard as she touched down on solid ground again. "Is this gonna be another screaming thing? I've really had enough of women freaking out."

They were in a slightly run-down house, guns and cartons of salt and old, leather-bound books everywhere. Three men were staring at her; two of them she recognized, the cute ones from the bar, but the third, an older man with a beard and a baseball cap, was unfamiliar to her.

Then it really set in. They were someplace else.

"Flying," Eli said quietly, wrapping an arm around her shaking friend. "It's not what you think it would be. You okay?"

Lucy shook her head. "No," she said in a small voice.

Eli sighed. "Do you want this all to make a little more sense?"

Lucy nodded blankly. "Yes."

"I think we broke her brain," one of the men, the pretty one with spiky hair, muttered to the tall one, who quickly _shushed_ him.

"Lucy," said Castiel's calm, focused voice. She turned to him like a zombie, still trying to sort out all of the random information that Eli had given her. Why was this happening? What was the backstory? Who were these people? Were there really angels? Was Eli even still the same person, or—

"Look at me," Castiel said gently, lifting her chin. "Just look into my eyes. Just for a moment."

"Try not to blink," Eli said helpfully.

Lucy stared at him; it wasn't difficult to do. The man was _gorgeous_. His eyes were a perfect storm blue, very intense; something shifted inside of them, like light, or moving water, and Lucy found herself drawn in.

Slowly, everything started to make sense. Information arranged itself in her head, knowledge that she couldn't possibly have had. Who people were, what had happened, why it had all happened. Who she really was. Names, dates, facts, all slotted into her brain as neatly as if arranged on index cards.

" _These are not the droids you're looking for_ ," Dean muttered to Sam.

"Nah, I think it's more of a Vulcan Mind Meld," Sam whispered back. Eli shot them a look.

Finally, Castiel stepped away. Lucy blinked, dazed but understanding. Everything they had said was true. Her life was a lie.

Quietly, Lucy began to weep.

* * *

"Hey you. What up?"

"My life is a lie," Lucy muttered. She was halfway through eating her way through the whole pie that Eli had brought her. "Do you have the brownies I asked for?"

Eli sighed and dropped down next to her at the kitchen table. "Yeah, but I really don't think…"

"Brownies," Lucy ordered. Eli slid them over to her and she unwrapped one and began to eat. Eli watched, mildly disgusted.

"I haven't seen anyone eat this much since Famine," she muttered.

"Horseman of the apocalypse, made people gorge themselves, Sam stopped him with his demon powers and you guys cut the ring off of his finger," Lucy said between chews. She stopped, swallowing abruptly. "Dude, that's weird. That's weird that I know that."

"Vulcan Mind Meld," Eli said wearily, picking at a brownie. "Weirdness is a side effect."

Lucy continued to eat. "I mean, how am I supposed to live with this?" she asked. "Everything I believed is fake. Bring me milk."

"I went through the same thing," Eli said, getting up and opening the fridge. She found a carton of milk, sniffed it tentatively, and started to pour. Lucy shook her head.

"That's totally different, and you know it. I mean, you had a real life, just not the one you thought you had. You have parents, and a destiny. I'm just a…side character with no back story opposite your heroine. That blows. Plus, you _wanted_ this. You always wanted this big magical life. Thanks." She took the milk from Eli and glugged it, then continued to voraciously attack her brownie, speaking in-between mouthfuls. "I just want to like, go to school and travel and be an archeologist. I like old things. I like books, and bones, and digs. But why do I like these things? I mean, I didn't even exist up until three months ago! This is bullshit! I call bullshit on my life."

"More milk?"

"Please."

Eli poured her another glass. "Well, besides the fact that my 'special destiny' has now put the world in danger," she said, setting it down in front of her friend, who had now returned to the pie. "Your life isn't over. In fact, this could be a great thing for you."

"Yeah, right."

"No, really!" Eli insisted. She tried to take a piece of pie away and Lucy smacked her hand.

"I was created from thin air by a douchebag with wings," Lucy wailed. "This is never going to be okay. And Goddamnit, I want some cheesecake. And buffalo wings. With spicy sauce."

"Okay, now it's getting weird," Eli said, eyeing her friend's tiny frame. "Where is it all going?"

"I won a competitive eating competition when I was sixteen…" She trailed off, looking horrified. "No I didn't! Because it never ha-ha-happened." She started to cry into her pie.

Sam entered the room, took one look at the tiny, weeping Asian girl, and started to back out again. Eli caught his eye and mouthed: _Cheesecake. Now._ He nodded and vanished.

"Ok, so here's the deal," Eli said softly, stroking her friend's hair. "We were all created by someone. And, truth be told, God's really not all that He's chalked up to be. Drinks a lot. Writes kinda cheesy novels."

"You…met God?" Lucy asked, sniffling. Eli blanched.

"Ah…let's not get into that. Anyway. We're all someone else's creation. You just happen to be created by some other crazy powerful being than the rest of us. It's really a matter of semantics. That doesn't make you any less of a person. You are still Lucy Wong. You're my best friend! You like Indian food and weird historical facts and cataloguing dead baby bones and referring to yourself in the third person and pretending to be a dinosaur in public places."

"This Lucy does like to do that stuff," she admitted grudgingly.

"And look, when this whole apocalypse thing is over, you'll be able to do whatever you want to do," Eli said. Lucy looked at her in surprise. "I'm serious. These guys are the best at creating fake identities. We can get you a social security number, set you up with a bank and some money, get you into any school you want or any job you want. You'll be set for life." She hesitated. "And if you still can't deal with the truth, well, we can wipe your mind, too. Give you a great life with no memory of any of this."

"You…can do that?" Lucy asked, putting her fork down and staring at Eli.

"Do you want us to do that?" Eli asked quietly. Lucy shook her head.

"I don't know. It's…been a really long day. I'll have to think on it."

There was a moment of silence. Then Eli had an idea. "Hey! You want me to teach you to shoot tomorrow? With the Mind Meld you already know the basics of being a hunter. You could help us out. Saving the world and all that."

"I know you're just trying to make me feel better," Lucy said flatly. "But thanks." She hesitated. "There is one thing you can do for me."

"Anything," Eli said immediately. Lucy looked her in the eyes.

"When all of this is over, I want to kill Gabriel."

Eli was taken aback. "What?"

"He's responsible for all of this. He gave me a life and then snatched it away. Everyone I ever loved is gone. I don't even know if I have a soul. Hell, I don't really know if I'm human. I am _nothing._ Every miserable thing that has happened to me is because of him."

"You're only alive because of him," Eli pointed out. She shook her head.

"Doesn't matter. I want him dead, Eli. When all of this is over, I want him to pay for what he did to me. To us. Will you help me?"

Eli was at a loss. She bit her thumbnail, contemplating, then nodded slowly. "If that's what it takes for you to get closure, then…yeah. But let's survive the end of the world before we start killing anybody, okay?"

Lucy leaned her head against Eli's shoulder. "Thanks. I really need you with me on this."

"Yeah…sure," Eli said, rubbing her back, feeling very uncomfortable and torn. Her friend had just had her whole world and sense of self ripped from her. Of course she wanted revenge. Eli only hoped that Lucy's opinions would change by the time judgment day rolled around. "Anything you say, hun. Anything you say."

If things didn't change, Eli was very sure that someone was going to die. She just wasn't sure who.

 


	12. In Which Eli Is A Lying Liar Who Lies

 

 

"Here's the safety. You slide it like this and it's off." Eli clicked the handgun and showed it to Lucy. "You try."

Lucy took it with shaking hands. "On…" she muttered, tongue between her teeth like it was a task that required great thought. "Off. On. Off."

They were standing in Bobby's scrap yard, a few yards away from a large bulls-eye target tacked to corkboard. The day was bright and chill, but not too cold, and both girls were bundled in warm coats, hats, and scarves. On the ground next to them was an assortment of guns; they were starting off with a small .22 pistol.

"Great," Eli said, smiling proudly. "Now make sure the safety's off and aim for that target." She pointed to the end of the gun. "You see this little groove here? You want to make sure that this lines up with the target. Use both hands. Lift it a little, then bring it slowly down until you can see the bull's eye straight across the barrel through this notch. Understand?"

"I…I think so," Lucy said, her voice stuttering a little. Eli frowned at her.

"What's the problem?"

Lucy scuffed the toe of her sneaker in the dirt, looking abashed. "I never used a gun before. Never held one. I don't know…"

"It's easy," Eli said, trying to stay patient. "It's not gonna bite you. Here." She reached up and snapped noise-canceling headphones around Lucy's ears. "Do it!" she said loudly, giving Lucy the thumbs-up.

Lucy took a deep, shaking breath, raised the gun in front of her, and pulled the trigger. Right as she did so she let out a little squeal and shut her eyes. The gun blasted, the kickback sending her arm flying up.

"I fired it!" she cried, ripping off the earphones and swinging to face Eli. "I did it!"

"Woah!" Eli yelled, grabbing her friend's arms and pointing it downward. "Rule number one: never point a loaded gun at someone unless you plan to shoot them!"

"Oh." Lucy blanched. "Sorry."

Eli took a deep breath. "Okay. That was _fine._ But you closed your eyes. Never do that, okay? Do what I told you. Line it up."

Lucy pouted. "But when you do it you just point and shoot…"

"My dad first took me to the shooting range when I was nine years old," Eli snapped. "And I've been a hunter for _eight years_. I know what I'm doing. You don't. This isn't a fucking karate kid movie. Real skills take time."

Lucy's lip trembled. "Oh. Sorry."

"Don't apologize, it's _fine_ ," Eli said shortly, rubbing her hands over her arms to warm herself up. "Now try it again."

"Look, I don't…I don't really think shooting is for me," Lucy said quickly, putting the handgun on the ground. "Why don't I like…go read up on omens some more with Bobby."

"But we just started…" Eli said, but trailed off as Lucy rushed into the house, her shoulders hunched.

"Five minutes and you've already got her in tears," a smartass voice said from behind her. "Great job. You've got a real light touch. I think you missed your calling as a pre-school teacher. Or nurse. Or…"

"She's not crying," Eli said, turning around to face Gabriel with crossed arms. He smirked.

"You sure about that?"

Eli glanced back at the house with a worried look on her face, then turned back to the Archangel. "What do you want?" she asked, crouching to pick up the handgun and clicking the safety back on. He frowned at her.

"Was giving a gun to a girl who just discovered her very existence is a lie really the best idea?"

"It's how I deal with my issues," she snapped. He waggled his eyebrows.

"And you turned out sooo well-adjusted."

"Just spit it out," she said, shoving the gun in the back of her jeans and blowing a stray hair from her face. "You clearly want something. What is it?"

"Guns aren't going to be enough," he said. "Not for this battle. Not even with your wondergirl powers making the bullets all sparkly. Not enough. Not close. Not even…"

"I get it," she said, sighing. "Damn, you like the sound of your own voice. So what do you propose? Hiding seems to be the only thing you're good at."

"Is it now?" he mused, raising his eyebrows. "Nothing else? There's nothing I could teach you at all?"

"You're offering to help with something?" Eli asked skeptically. "What's the catch?"

Gabriel smirked.

* * *

"You know, for a war, there does seem to be a whole lot of sitting around."

Eli looked up in surprise as Dean dropped down next to her on Bobby's couch. "Yeah," she said, a bit glumly. "I know it seems like we've been hiding out here forever, but in reality it's only been about what, five days since I got my memories back?"

"We've been fighting this war for three months," Dean pointed out. "We were searching for you and hiding out from pissed off angels the whole time you were in lala land. And we still have no idea what we're gonna do. Kinda hard to fight something you can't beat."

"We're working on it," Eli said, a bit snappish.

"And how's that going for you?" he asked, cracking open his beer. She sighed.

"Not well. I still have no idea how we're supposed to beat a couple of Archangels, especially if they have Heaven on their side. I hate to say it, but what we need is…God."

"Good luck with that," Dean snorted, drinking deeply. "Not like we even have the damn amulet anymore."

"It didn't work anyway," Eli said before she could stop herself. Dean looked at her closely, slowly lowering his beer to place it on the ground.

"How would you know whether or not it worked?" he asked. She was silent. "Eli, what do you know?"

She sighed, rubbing her temples tiredly. "Oh fuck. I guess it doesn't matter anymore. Chuck's gone now anyway. Forever."

"Chuck knew where God was?" Dean asked, leaning forward, his hands on his knees. Eli shook her head.

"Dean…Chuck _was_ God."

There was a long moment of silence. "Get the fuck out of here," Dean said, snorting and picking his beer up again. "No way was Chuck God. He slept with hookers! He drank like a…well, he drank a lot."

"Believe what you will, Dean," Eli said, standing and stretching. "But I saw the face of God, and it was…hairy."

She started to walk away but he grabbed her wrist. "Anything else you're keeping from us, Barbie?" he asked, skepticism and sarcasm still heavy in his voice. Eli hesitated for a fraction of a second, then shook her head.

"No. Nothing."

Lying was really becoming second nature to her now.

* * *

"Something's different."

"Hello to you too," Eli said. She looked at him upside down as he entered the room, her head hanging off the side of the bed, an open book on demonology held above her.

Castiel ignored her greeting, instead walking to the bed and bending over to stare at her upside-down face. Gently he touched her cheek with his fingertips, then jerked away as if sparked by electricity.

"Your powers. They've been released. To an angelic level." Eli was silent, just watching him, her hair hanging down the mattress, the book still clutched in her hand. "Did Gabriel do this?"

"Who else?" she asked, trying to sound blithe. He just stared at her, unblinking.

"Gabriel does nothing for free," he said harshly. "What did he want?"

Eli sighed and sat up, feeling the blood rush from her head. "Nothing." Castiel continued to look at her flatly. " _Nothing_. I promise. He owed me, okay? For all the memory-wiping stuff. Now we're even. That's it." Castiel didn't even blink, just tipped his head and x-rayed her with his eyes. "Damn, Cas, don't you trust me?"

That seemed to snap him out of his staring contest. "I don't trust _him_ ," he said in his rough voice, sitting next to her on the bed. "Especially when it comes to you. Everything that comes out of his mouth is a lie."

Eli crossed her legs under her and faced him. "What do you mean, especially when it comes to me?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "Are you…are you _jealous_?"

Castiel shifted awkwardly and looked away, shamefaced. "He does seem to have an excessive interest in you."

Eli laughed. She couldn't help herself. He jerked his head up to find her covering her mouth with both hands, giggles escaping. "What?" he asked suspiciously.

She snorted. "You're jealous of that smug asshole? _Really_? Oh, Cas. It's almost cute."

"It is not cute," he said stiffly, clearly unsure if he was being mocked. She stopped laughing and reached out, tracing his jaw-line with her hand.

"It is," she said, smiling. "Love, for there to be jealousy there has to something to be jealous about. And you…you never have to worry about my wanting to be with anyone else. Never. You are…" She trailed off, looking at him adoringly.

It was like a vice had been released from Castiel's chest. He took her hand from his cheek and kissed her palm. "What am I?" he murmured, pulling her closer.

"Mmm, wonderful," she said. He pressed his lips to her wrist, feeling her pulse flutter.

"And?" he asked huskily, moving up an inch and kissing her skin softly.

"Kind." He kissed the crook of her elbow. "Intelligent." He kissed her upper arm. "Devastatingly sexy." He kissed her shoulder. "Inherently adorable." His lips moved to her neck, gently running his teeth along the delicate skin. "Incredibly distracting," she said, her voice very near a moan. He kissed below her ear, his warm hands pulling her in. "A huge tease."

"Am I teasing you?" he murmured against her lips. "I was unaware."

"Like hell you were," she said, kissing him.

Castiel tilted them back until they were sprawled on the bed, his body half-covering hers. "I've found that I enjoy flattery," he said, slipping a hand under her shirt. She laughed a little.

"I've found that you wear too much clothing. Seriously, a trench coat, blazer and tie all the time?" She kissed him slowly, languidly, letting herself taste him. She loved the feel of his weight on top of her, how he pressed into her and she could feel every part of his lean body. She broke the kiss for a moment to tug at his tie. "It takes way too long to get you naked."

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?"

Eli gave a startled yelp and nearly fell off the bed. Castiel muttered something that sounded like an Enochian curse and rolled off of her, sitting up straight and pulling a pillow over his lap, his tie half-undone and hair sticking up at all angles.

"Oh come now, you don't have to stop for little old me," the man said in a clipped British accent, leering.

"Crowley!" Eli snapped, pushing hair away from her flushed face. "What the _fuck_ are you doing here? Get out!"

"What, no _hello Crowley?_ No _Nice to see you, Crowley_? No _That's a beautifully well-cut suit you're wearing, Crowley_?"

"How about _When the fuck are you going to give back Bobby's soul, Crowley?_ " Eli hissed, standing up. Castiel stayed conspicuously seated. "Did you think we'd forgotten?"

"Of course not," Crowley said with a sneer. "But we've got more important things to worry about right now."

"You do realize you're in the room with two people who can burn you where you stand, right?" Eli growled, hating his presence in her life. He was her one failure, the one wrong she failed to right—somehow _, impossibly_ , the demon had managed to slip himself into some place so deep and dark that even when nuclear she had been unable to find him and wrench Bobby's soul from his grasp.

Crowley merely raised his eyebrows and grinned. "Ah yes. You have been powered up. Good. It'll make this a lot easier. Come on. Places to be, people to see." He glanced at the mute angel. "Castiel? Care to join the party or are you just going to…sit there?" He eyed the pillow suggestively.

"What are you talking about?" Castiel said in a very steady voice that meant he was trying to stay in control. He finally stood, shaking out his trench coat and adjusting his tie. "How did you even get in here? And go where?"

"To visit an old friend," Crowley said blandly. "And I have my methods. One can get in anywhere if they know the cracks in the wall."

"You really think we're going to drop everything and just follow you someplace?" Eli asked in a disbelieving voice. "After everything you've done?"

"Everything I've done?" he asked, surprised and condescending. "What, you mean helping you find Death and avert the apocalypse? Right, I guess I never did apologize for _saving your bloody asses_."

"Give. Bobby. Back. His. Soul," Eli demanded, taking a threatening step closer. "Now."

"It's not my fault you couldn't find me when the time was right. I told you I was good. Now, smite me and you'll never get it back," he said, frowning at her. "And like I said, I will. When I'm ready. Now come on, hop hop. World to save and all."

"You're trying to help us save the world," Castiel said flatly. Crowley puffed out his chest.

"I'll have you know I've been instrumental in halting the apocalypse several times."

"And how many souls do you have because of it?" Castiel asked, narrowing his eyes.

"You wound me," Crowley deadpanned, smoothing the lines of his suit with well-manicured hands. "I'm not asking for anything now. Think of this like a favor to a friend who is very anxious to speak with you. So stop bitching and come along. It won't take five minutes, and then you can get back to any….extracurricular activities you desire." He smirked.

Eli glanced at Castiel. "We should get Sam and…"

"No," Crowley said sharply. "No Hardy Boys. This isn't their fight. I only need the two fuckups who helped jump-start the apocalypse. _Again_."

They just stared at him with near-identical expressions of dislike and distrust. He shrugged and shoved his hands in his coat pockets. "Think of it this way: Have I led you wrong before? And also, can you really turn away help at this point?"

Eli and Castiel glanced at each other, silently communicating. Finally Eli dropped her shoulders and asked, in a very weary voice: "Where are we going?"

Crowley smiled cheerfully. "That's the spirit. To England it is."

"What is in England?" Castiel rasped, still wary. Crowley's smile became wider.

"An angel."

 


	13. In Which There Is A Wide Variety Of Angels: Stoic, Pervy, and Gayer Than A Tree-full Of Monkeys On Nitrous Oxide

 

 

"A bookstore?" Eli asked skeptically as they stepped inside, the little bell over the door tinkling. It was a snug, low-lit antique book shop in London, the kind where all of the books were leather-bound and most of them were first editions. It smelled, not unpleasantly, of paper and must and coffee and hardwood floors. "It's so…cluttered. Why are we here?" She paused, tilting her head as Castiel prowled the edges of the shop, disappearing momentarily between bookshelves. "And why is this whole setup eerily familiar?"

Crowley looked around as if expecting to see someone, then rolled his eyes. "Typical. Probably in the back pouring over those sodding prophecies again." He raised his voice. "Angel! You've got visitors!"

Eli's strange, dejavu feeling only increased as a bespeckled head of curly blond hair poked out of a doorway in the back. "Visitors? Oh, finally!" The angel rushed out and seized Eli's hand, shaking it enthusiastically. "So good to meet you, my dear, I've heard _so_ much. It's really all Heaven can talk about. And look at you, you're just _lovely._ " He glanced at the apparently empty shop. "And where is my angel of Thursday?"

"You mean Cas?" Eli asked cautiously. The angel beamed.

"What a darling nickname! Yes, of course."

"I'm right here," came a very stiff voice. Castiel stepped from behind a bookshelf. "Hello, Aziraphale. It's been a long time."

The yellow-haired angel spun around. "Castiel! How lovely to see you. Why didn't you _tell_ me you were on earth, we could have visited sooner!" He clapped Castiel on the shoulder and Castiel flinched, looking supremely uncomfortable. "Still so stiff and proper, I see, though you've gotten yourself into a mess of trouble. Well, come along, I've got tea on."

"Wait a minute," Eli said slowly. "Aziraphale? Aziraphale and Crowley? I _know_ this. I've… _read_ this."

"Oh, bloody hell," Crowley snapped. "You've read the damn book, haven't you? Well, don't believe it."

"It was…it's a _prophecy_?" Eli gasped, hands on her mouth. "Oh my God, everything? The apocalypse, the Anti-Christ, the _bikers_ …"

"It's half prophecy, half utter nonsense," Aziraphale said sniffily. "Only one of the authors is a prophet, but he doesn't know it, so he let the mundane…collaborate with him."

"Which one?" Eli asked excitedly, swiveling her head back and forth between the angel and demon. "Which one is the prophet? Neil Gaiman or Terry Prachett?"

"We're not telling," Crowley said in a flat tone. "Now come on. Angel made tea, and we've got lots to talk about."

They followed the angel and demon through a side door and into a cramped, but surprisingly cozy kitchen, with hardwood floors and a large oak table taking up most of the space. The tea was squealing merrily in the kettle as Eli and Castiel sat down. Aziraphale poured some into china cups and handed them over, before perching on a chair himself and smiling beatifically.

"Now. Isn't this nice?" he asked, beaming at them. Eli sipped her tea warily, still a little weirded out by the whole situation.

Castiel got right down to business. "Why did you want to see us?" he rasped. "I thought you were staying out of the apocalypse this time."

"Well, I was," Aziraphale said delicately, breathing in the steam from his tea. "I had already done my part during the previous apocalypse and from what I heard from Crowley, you and the Winchesters had it covered." He winced. "Plus, I was on probation. Much of Heaven wasn't happy with my interference the first time around. I had to lay low. Even the slightest indication I was helping you and they would have dragged me back to Heaven."

"And now?" Eli asked darkly.

"This is a different situation. This is not the 'destined' apocalypse. This is Remiel and Sariel taking it upon themselves to end life as we know it, and if I know anything about our Father, he is not happy about this."

"But of course he doesn't step in to help," Crowley interrupted sourly, pouring whiskey into his tea. Aziraphale shot him a look.

"Ineffable plan, dear. We must sort out these messes for ourselves."

"You're saying that you want to help this time?" Castiel asked. He had taken Eli's hand under the table and was holding it gently, fingers laced in hers, as if to ground himself amidst all of the insanity around them.

"Well mainly I just wanted to have you over for tea," Aziraphale said rather sweetly. "But yes, of course, that as well. I've been going up to Heaven when I can, spreading the good word, congregating your supporters. I just need some time."

"What about the Anti-Christ?" Eli asked, leaning forward on the table. "From the book. Adam, right?"

"In reality he's not really the devil's child," Crowley said, abandoning the tea and drinking whiskey straight out of a flask. "He's like that boy you found, Jesse. Half-breed, immensely powerful, and, well, a kid. Rather irritating one, at that."

"He's still a twelve-year-old in Tadfield," Aziraphale said, sighing. "Closed him and his friends off in a little bubble of never-ending sunny days that neither Heaven nor hell can penetrate. If he knows about the impending apocalypse, he's not giving any indication."

"So what now?" Castiel asked in a low voice. Aziraphale folded his hands together on top of the table.

"Now we watch, and wait for an opportunity to present itself. It shouldn't take long." He shifted his gaze to Castiel. "By the way, I'd warn you to keep an eye on Gabriel. He's a loose canon, that one. Been around humans too long."

"Like you haven't," Crowley snarked.

"I still serve the greater good," Aziraphale said in a lofty voice. "But Gabriel…he serves nothing but himself." Aziraphale stood, brushing off his pleated pants with smooth fingers. "Now, Eli, dear," he said, smiling brightly, as if they hadn't just been speaking of the apocalypse and the Anti-Christ. "Would you like to see my book collection?"

* * *

Gabriel was drinking.

He was an Archangel; ergo, it took a lot to get him drunk. But he had thousands of years of practice. He knew how to tamp down his power and force the alcohol into his system faster and create drinks with a proof that defied the laws of physics. As it was, he was half-plastered already, and it had only been about three hours.

It was nighttime. All of the humans were asleep in their little beds back at Bobby's house. He had opted for a penthouse apartment overlooking New York City, but you know, whatever. And he was drinking.

He liked alcohol; been around for a long time and hadn't really found anything better. But it had the unfortunate side-effect of loosening him up too much, and made him think about things that he was usually able to repress under iron control and sharp wit. Made him realize certain unfortunate truths that he'd rather not acknowledge.

And the truth was that he wanted her.

This was not a part of his strange half-friendship with her, a leftover of their time when she was Beth and he was Tom. This was not the snide pleasure he got when he thought of taking something from Castiel. This was just…wanting. He was drunk, and alone, and he wanted her. Badly.

He knew it would be easy; he made women out of thin air all the time. But to his sober, bitter self, it seemed wrong, like crossing a line. He still got the chatter from Heaven, he had heard what Zachariah did to distract the Winchester's half-brother, and it sickened him just a little bit. He liked to think that he was above that. He liked to think that she was worth more than that.

But the more he drank, the less excuses he could come up with.

She wasn't going to leave Castiel; that was certain. She was bonded to him, and nothing would ever wipe away that mark. It's not like he wanted her to, anyway. He was like a dog chasing a car: he wouldn't know what to do with it if he actually caught it. He didn't want to date her, he didn't want to fall in love, didn't want anyone intruding on the cozy life he'd designed for himself. He just _wanted_ , and it was getting harder and harder to ignore.

He look another long drink, feeling the alcohol, strong enough that it would burn through a human's esophagus in under ten seconds, rip down his throat.

Would it be so bad? He was alone. No one would know. All he would have to do is snap his fingers…

He snapped his fingers, and she was there.

Of course it wasn't her, just an illusion like all of the other billions of illusions he had created over his long life. But it was a damn good illusion. She was in a pretty summer frock that was tight over her chest and stomach and flared out over her hips, the kind of outfit he would never see her wear in real life. Her hair was a mass of yellow waves across her shoulders, feet bare, mouth full and pouting and deeply pink. She didn't have on any makeup, but there was a sultry look to her, a darkening of her green eyes that he had never witnessed.

She bit her lip, looking at him almost shyly. "Hi, Gabe."

He stood up and walked to her, surprised at how steady his steps were. "You're…perfect," he mused, toying with some of her hair and studying her face. "I did a good job. Every freckle in place. You look just like her."

"I am her," she said, smiling and running her hands down his chest. She leaned in to whisper in his ear: "And I'm very, very hot right now."

Gabriel's eyes nearly rolled back into his head. "I am so bad," he groaned, before seizing her waist and pulling her in.

Her lips tasted just the way he remembered, from that day at the warehouse: warm and sweet with the hint of minty chapstick. She clutched his shirt the same way too, hands fisting into the material to pull him closer, but this time she didn't pull away from his tongue, just opened her mouth and made soft, breathy whimpering noises in the back of her throat.

He hadn't expected her to be so _soft_. Being a hunter and all, it seemed like her body should be all muscle and sinew. But it wasn't. He slid his hands under her dress and cupped her butt, feeling the lace of her panties against his fingertips, and dug his fingers in slightly, crushing her to him. She wiggled a little, and it took all of his massive will to not lose all self control at that moment.

He spun her around, slipping the straps of her dress down and kissing her shoulder. He kept one hand under her dress and moved the other to her breast, reveling in how it filled the palm of his hand. She threw her head back, biting her lip as if trying not to moan.

"You can say it," he whispered into her ear, smirking. His fingers found just the right spot and she arched against him.

" _Please_ ," she softly cried. He loved it.

"A little louder, hmm?" he murmured, thinking of all of the wonderful things she could do with that pouting mouth of hers. They had all night.

There was the rustle of wings, and then a fist slammed into his jaw.

"I will _kill_ you," a familiar voice growled, and punches landed on his cheekbone, his eye, his lips, splitting the skin and filling his mouth with the taste of blood. He was thrown against the wall with surprising strength, and an elbow knocked the wind from him. Gabriel looked up, dazed and spitting blood.

"Hey, bro. If it makes you feel any better, it's not really her."

Castiel gripped his shirt and lifted the battered Archangel. He was literally shaking with anger, his power sparking all around him, like he was trying to escape his vessel. And that power was big, bigger than it had ever been before the apocalypse—maybe even big enough to kill.

"Of course it's not her," he hissed in an extremely guttural voice. "I know for a fact that she would never, _never_ lower herself to be with you. You are _scum_. Now get rid of it."

"I…"

_"Get rid of it!"_

Gabriel snapped his fingers and the doppelganger disappeared back into the vapor. "Woah woah woah, bro, calm down, I did it, she's gone," he said, holding out his hands in supplication. "I was just having some fun!"

Castiel pulled him closer, their noses almost touching, and spoke in a low, terribly controlled voice. "You have been doing _everything_ in your power to take her away from me. We have wasted precious time averting the apocalypse because of _you_. Give me _one_ reason why I should not lay you to waste where you stand."

"Uh, because I'm an Archangel?" he said, trying to stay calm, but the truth was that Castiel's power upgrade was stronger than he had anticipated and it was quite possible that he would feel an angel-killing blade between his ribs at any second. "The only one on your side?"

"And that gives you a free pass to do whatever you want?" the normally stoic angel snarled. "To defile her like that? To use her in your personal vendetta against me…"

"Oh don't flatter yourself, this had nothing to do with you," Gabriel said. He realized a millisecond later that that was the wrong thing to say.

Castiel lifted him off of his feet and pulled him even closer, dropping his voice so that he was nearly whispering. "There is a war coming," he hissed. "And we may need you. But from now on, you are my bitch. You will do everything that I tell you. You will _stay away from Eli._ If you ever lay a finger on her, real or otherwise, I will take the greatest of pleasure in annihilating your grace and wiping the scorch marks from your wings off of the floor. Do you understand me, _brother_?"

Gabriel nodded. "Dude, yeah, I do. Sorry. Won't happen again. Scout's honor."

Castiel glared at him steadily, as if ascertaining the truth of his words, then dropped him so abruptly that the Archangel stumbled. "You disgust me," he said in a sickened tone, and reached out to place one hand against his brother's chest.

Gabriel gasped as white light seared his insides, carving and scraping against his ribs. "What the fuck did you just do?" he snapped, backing away frantically.

Castiel gave him an even, squint-eyed glare. "I carved you a sigil. _Don't_ try and get rid of it. From now on, any time that you create an illusion, any time you use your power for _anything_ , no matter what it is, I will sense it, and I will be there." He took a step closer, his very aura menacing. "So watch your step."

There was the flurry of wings, and Gabriel was alone in his penthouse.

He sighed, trying to repress the urge to scream. Mark him? _Mark him_? Oh, hell no. Gabriel didn't care how dangerous Castiel was, no one tethered the Trickster and got away with it. Especially not when it was so beautifully easy to turn the tables.

Gabriel grinned and wiped blood from his cheek. This might even be fun.

 


	14. In Which Eli Really Fucks Things Up

 

 

It wasn't twelve hours later when Castiel felt the tug.

It was like a cord attached to his left shoulder had been yanked, pulling his consciousness in a certain direction. He had never felt it before but he knew what it was: Gabriel was using his power.

He followed it immediately, landing outside of a warehouse thirty miles away. It was in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by cornfields, an empty, cold stretch of land. The warehouse itself was falling apart, corrugated metal rusting, holes in the ceiling. Castiel prowled along the edges for a moment, ascertaining the situation, then found a side door and slipped inside.

…and on to the shores of a lake.

He tipped his head, curious. The bank was grassy and smooth, but somehow flat and one-dimensional. The water was still, like glass; too still. The sky was a rough, washed out blue that occasionally flickered, showing pieces of the warehouse roof. It was certainly not up to Gabriel's usual impeccable standards of illusions.

"Think about it this way," his familiar voice said patiently, and Castiel jerked around and started to walk, looking for him. "The light reflects off of each drop of water differently, like facets of a diamond. The water moves, the light reflects, but every moment is different. Try and picture in your mind sunlight on water, and then _feel_ it."

"I _can't_. It's too much. I can't hold on to the image and make it change at the same time."

Castiel froze when he heard the second voice, then instinctively checked their shared connection. This wasn't an illusion. It was really her.

He quickened his pace, and finally saw them. Eli and Gabriel were standing near the flat lake; she had her hands out, a look of intense concentration on her face, like she was holding on to something that wasn't there. The water began to flicker, moving, the light falling onto it in uneven chunks.

"Yes you can. Just watch how I do it. You're focusing too hard; it should be a natural thing. Just breathe and take the time to really look at the world around you. Everything will fall into place."

Her brow furrowed in frustration. "It's not falling into place! My head feels like it's going to explode, I can't hold onto it much longer."

"You're not supposed to _hold onto it_ , it's supposed to be natural!"

"WELL IT'S NOT NATURAL TO ME!"

"Elijah."

Castiel only had to say that one word and the entire illusion vanished as if it had never been, leaving the three of them in the dusty warehouse, Eli's face white and eyes almost comically wide.

"Oh shit, Cas, I can explain."

Gabriel rocked back on his heels, smiling cheerfully. "Hey bro. Oh, gosh-darnit, was I using my powers? Silly me."

Castiel merely tilted his head at Eli, then shifted his gaze to Gabriel. "I know the game that you are playing, Gabriel, and do not for one moment think that there will not be repercussions," he said flatly. "Now leave."

Gabriel shot Eli a wink and vanished.

She groaned, running her hands anxiously through her hair. "Look, Cas, I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I really really am, but I knew you would disapprove and there would be a fight and I just didn't want to…"

"You lied to me," he said, betrayal evidenced in his voice. She took a step closer and he stepped back. "You told me that Gabriel wanted nothing. You told me that you would _stay away from him_."

"See, that's why I didn't tell you!" she said, raising her voice. "He can help us. He's just showing me how to create illusions. Do you realize how awesome that is, what we can do with power like that? And you would throw that possibility away because you and Gabe have this love/hate relationship going on and _I_ somehow got caught in the middle!"

_"You have no idea how dangerous he is!_ " Castiel yelled, breaking his calm façade. "You have no idea what he is capable of!"

"I'm sorry, but who just had their memories wiped and lost three months of their life to a fairy-tale? I think I understand the danger," she snapped.

Castiel startled her by walking quickly forward and grabbing her arm. "No," he said in a quieter voice, "you don't. You don't know what he…" He trailed off, staring at her with a deeply wounded look in his eyes. "You should trust me more. I am trying to protect you."

"The world is ending, Cas," Eli said in a harsh voice. "I don't need a father telling me what I can and can't do. I see an opportunity to do something that might help _save the world_ and I take it."

He studied her face for a moment. "You're not even regretful about the lying," he finally said. "You're just unhappy you got caught."

"How do you expect me to tell you things if I know you'll just ban me from doing them?" she asked. "I knew it would cause a fight and I didn't want that."

"And lying is better?"

"In this situation, yes!" she said, frustrated, then paused. "Wait, how did you even find us? I would have felt it if it were through the mark."

He glared at her. "You aren't telling me everything, I certainly don't have to tell you everything."

"Oh, real mature," she said sarcastically.

"I've had enough of this," he growled, then turned as if to disappear. Eli stopped him by grabbing the edge of his trench coat.

"Cas! Wait. I'm sorry, I really am, but can't you at least _try_ to see it from my point of view?" He turned to look at her, stone-faced, and didn't respond. "Gabriel is a major dickhead, and clearly I don't know everything that is going on between the two of you, but I am really good at making illusions. I mean, shouldn't we be exploring all options?" He was silent. "Cas?" Eli asked pleadingly. "Come on, talk to me."

"Gabriel is a manipulator and a liar," he said coldly. "Whatever your reasons for doing this may be, I never thought that you would be one as well."

He pulled his coat out of her grip and vanished, appearing in a barren field.

Castiel squinted and looked around warily. This was not where he meant to go. Where was this?

"You can't just say horrible things and then disappear," Eli's voice snapped from behind him. "That's not how things are done, Cas. We have to talk about this."

He turned to her, glaring. "Where are we? And how did you follow me? I was blocking you."

"It doesn't matter," she said, taking a step toward him and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Around them the air had gone very still, almost like they were inside of a vacuum. "We have to talk."

"I don't wish to speak about this any more," he said, very close to becoming infuriated. "Not now."

"I can't just let you fly away on me!" she said, her voice breaking. "I never know what you're really feeling, what is going on inside of your head. You're just so damn _good_ , all of the time, this unwavering moral entity and I just can't keep up with you. I'm human, I make mistakes, you can't freak out and leave every time I make one!"

"You're not human," he said, but his voice was softer. She shook her head, moving forward and grasping the lapels of his coat tentatively.

"I am on the inside. And we humans…we lie sometimes. We make mistakes. It's not the end of the world. Please, Cas. Talk to me."

He sighed, making a movement as if to brush her cheek with his thumb, but paused mid-motion and raised his head to the nonexistent wind. "Where are we?" he asked slowly. "Where is this place?"

"It doesn't…" she started, but he grasped her shoulders and stared into her eyes with sudden intensity.

"We're still in the warehouse, aren't we?" Castiel rasped. "You didn't follow me; I never left. This is an illusion. You stopped me from leaving by trapping me in an illusion."

"I…" she stuttered, trying to look away from his furious and wounded gaze but feeling paralyzed, like a frog under a flashlight. "I… you were going to disappear on me and I…I panicked!"

"It's an impressive illusion for someone who was panicking," he said darkly, tightening his grip on her shoulders to almost painful levels. "Which means that you were lying to Gabriel as well, making him think that you were struggling. He has no idea how far you have progressed."

"I needed to have the upper hand!" Eli insisted, and was embarrassed to feel tears flood her eyes. She felt sick to her stomach. "I didn't trust him, so I…"

"Lied?" Castiel finished icily. He finally dropped her shoulders and stepped away, his mouth tight. "Dispel the illusion."

"Cas," she started, but one glare from him silenced her.

" _Dispel the illusion_ ," he growled. She sighed; the world around them wavered and faded until it was the grubby inside of a warehouse once more. Wings rustled; she blinked, and he was gone.

"Shit," Eli whimpered, sinking onto the floor and rubbing tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. "Oh, shit."

She let herself cry. It didn't do much good.

* * *

Alcohol, on the other hand, did a lot of good.

When she finally returned to the house there was no sign of Castiel but there was a note on the kitchen table, written in scrawled pencil and block letters.

_Out hunting rugaroo in next town over. Be back tomorrow._  
_Try not to die in next 24 hrs._  
_Call only in case of apocalypse._  
_No sex anywhere but your bedroom or I will kill you. That includes shower._  
_Check wards when you get the chance._  
_Dean says not to eat the pie in fridge._

_-Bobby_

_PS Your friend wandered off. Don't know where, but she has cash and doesn't seem completely brain-dead so I wouldn't worry too much._

Below that was scribbled, in Dean's familiar messy handwriting: _EAT PIE YOU DIE._

Eli was alone, which was fine by her. She leisurely pulled out every bottle of alcohol she could find, even those in Bobby's stash in the Panic Room that he thought she didn't know about, poured herself some shots, and after a moment of debate, took Dean's cherry pie from the refrigerator.

She guessed that it was all part of the powering-up package, but it took a lot to get Eli drunk. She downed a row of shots, then polished off some beers with the pie and finally stuck a straw in a bottle of vodka and sipped it while lying on her back on the kitchen table, her socked feet dangling over the side, the world pleasantly dulled.

"You see, the trick is to find alcohol with the highest proof possible," said a drawling voice. "That way you don't have to drink so much. It's simple math."

She didn't lift her head, just tipped it to look at him sideways, straw still sticking out of her mouth. "Go 'way, Gabe," she mumbled. "Leave me 'lone."

"Annnddd apparently drinking gives you the voice and vocabulary of a five-year-old," Gabriel said, dropping down in the chair nearest to her head. "Noted."

She scowled at him. "Nuh uh."

"My point exactly." He smirked.

"I don't wanna talk to you," she said grumpily, spitting out the straw and shifting her gaze back to the ceiling. "This is all your fault. Somehow."

"Of course. How _did_ I forget putting a gun to your head and forcing you to lie to your beloved boyfriend?" Gabriel asked sardonically. "Oh wait, that's because _I didn't_. Don't have no one to blame but yourself here, sweetheart."

"He followed _you_ ," she accused, trying to think straight. "It was your idea to do this whole illusion thing anyway." She paused. "How _did_ he follow you?"

"Darling Cas carved a special sigil into my ribs," Gabriel said flatly. Eli moved her gaze back to him, as surprised as the alcohol would let her be.

"Why?"

He ignored her, instead picking up the note crumpled by her head and smoothing it out. "Huh, guess Bobby won't have to worry about you having crazy monkey sex while he's gone," he said, balling it up again and tossing it into the trashcan. He eyed her form suggestively. "Unless…"

"Can it, ass-face," she said, sticking the straw back in her mouth and drinking.

"Ouch. That wounds me," Gabriel said, hand over his heart. "And I'll have you know my face looks nothing like an ass."

She chewed on her straw. "Yeah, what's up with your face, anyway?" she asked, rolling onto her side to stare somewhat dazedly at him.

He tried to ignore the picture she was unconsciously projecting, stretched on the table, arm propping her head up, face flushed, sipping vodka from a straw. "Uh, drunk girl not making any sense," he said, licking his lips a little nervously. She rolled her eyes.

"I mean your appearance. I know you can make yourself look however you want, but why do you always go back to this? Is it a vessel? Must be, right? All angels need 'em. Or did you pull an Anna and just create your own?"

"Let's not talk about me," he started in what he hoped was a blithe tone, but she merely reached out and poked him hard in the nose.

"Gabe. Spill."

He sighed, stretching back in his chair and taking one of her bottles of whisky. "Vessel. I've had it since I ditched Heaven, which was…ooo, long time ago. It's been good to me. Like an old coat you just can't bring yourself to throw away."

"Who was he?" she asked softly, studying his face with an intensity he found unnerving.

"Name was Gaius," he said, and she raised an eyebrow. He laughed. "I know, right? Anyway. Lived around Rome about 2,000 years ago. Nice guy. Little too much fraternization with the farm animals, but, you know, that was what they did back then. Thought I was one of their Gods when I first talked to him." He paused. "That's what gave me the idea, actually. The real Trickster had recently been killed, so it was pretty easy to take up his mantle and convince everyone that his death was just another trick."

"Is Gaius still there, on the inside?" she asked softly. He shook his head.

"Not really. Might get a whiff of human soul every now and then, but 2,000 years…it tore his spirit to tatters. It's what eventually happens to all vessels if they're kept too long. But yeah, Gaius…he was cool."

She was silent for a long moment, sucking her straw contemplatively, and Gabriel almost groaned. It was getting harder and harder for him to force away the thought of pinning her to the table, straddling her, and licking the vodka from her lips. Against his will, he found himself physically responding, and he crossed his legs in as nonchalant a manner as possible.

"I've always wondered something," Eli finally said, a little sleepily. He took a calming breath.

"What?"

She pushed the bottle away from her and flopping onto her back to stare at the ceiling. "What would have happened if my power had never been released, if I had just gone on living an ordinary life? I mean, I can't really die unless an Archangel smashes me, right? So what would have happened when I grew old? Would I have even grown old?" She hiccupped. "And for that matter, how did Heaven even kill the other Nephilim in the first place? We're pretty bad-ass, in case you haven't noticed."

"I have," he said dryly, propping his boots up on the table. "You sure you want to hear this? It's not pretty."

She lifted her head to stare at him. "Hit me."

Gabriel sighed. "We tricked them," he said in an even voice, staring at the bottle of whisky in his hands. "In to accepting graces. They were roaming the earth, powers all bound so that they would live normal human lives and not accidentally blink the universe out of existence, and God, well, He was more wrathful back then. Kinda racist. Not so much now, but a couple millennia will soften anyone up. Anyway. He wanted them gone. His Will Be Done and all that crap. So we gathered 'em up, gave 'em graces; made them angels, which meant they could be killed. Right when they were all excited about joining their Heavenly brethren we smote the crap out of 'em. And that was that."

Slowly, as if afraid she would tip over, Eli sat up and crossed her legs. "That's horrible," she said in a despondent voice. "And so sad."

"You know what's even sadder?" Gabriel said in a dark tone. Eli looked at him with huge eyes. "Each angel had to kill their own offspring. As a show of faith. God's great plan included making us murder our children."

"Did you…" Eli started softly, then trailed off. He stared at her, for once completely serious, remembering the feel of the sword in his hands, a grace shattering like glass under its point, the thickness of blood on his skin, the quiet, betrayed shock on her face before she flickered and simply ceased to be.

"Why do you think I left Heaven in the first place?"

"Gabe…" Eli said, hands to her mouth. He shook his head out of his dark thoughts.

"Well, it happened a long, long time ago, so I wouldn't fret about it too much," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. She took the hint and didn't press the subject.

"What about me?" Eli asked softly. "They wanted to erase my memories at first. What would have happened had I said yes?"

"Well, you would have been protected," Gabriel said, taking a long drink. "Michael was adamant on that. But I really don't know. Maybe the barriers would have given you the appearance of aging, and when you reached an appropriate age you would have been…" He paused, thinking hard. "Maybe reborn, as an infant, to another family, to live your life over again? Or given a grace to join your father? Or given a grace and then killed, since your natural human lifespan was up?" He shrugged. "I don't know. I think it was a ' _we'll cross that bridge when we get there'_ type of scenario for them."

"Ah," she said, not really knowing what kind of response to make. She picked up the bottle of vodka and took the tiniest sip. "Maybe it would have been better for everyone if I had just said yes that day. If Cas had just wiped my memories clean."

Gabriel frowned at her. "Don't say that."

She blinked sleepily at him. "Sorry."

He stood and plucked the liquor from her hand. "I think it's bedtime for you," he said, snapping his fingers, and a moment later she was in her pajamas and snuggled under a mountain of comforters. Eli lifted her head, confused; he was sitting on the side of the bed. "Sleep," Gabriel said. "And try not to puke. You've got an apocalypse and a hangover to look forward to, so enjoy it while you can."

Eli felt her lids closing despite her best efforts. In her mind she kept replaying the image of him having to kill his own child, and felt indescribably sad. "'Night, Gabe."

She felt gentle lips brush her forehead. "'Night, Blondie."

Eli tumbled into sleep.

 


	15. In Which Angels Come In To The Bookstore, And Out Of The Closet

 

 

Eli awoke with the most massive hangover of her life.

"Nghhh," she moaned when someone flicked the light on in the bedroom. She flung an arm over her eyes. "Nooo…light…bad…go…'way…"

"Rise and shine," Bobby's gruff voice said loudly. "It's noon, and we got to talk."

She pressed her palms to her forehead. "Can't it…wait?" she mumbled. "I'm seeing stars."

"That won't be all you're seeing if you don't get your ass out of that bed," Bobby snapped. "There's bad shit going down and we can't put the world saving on hold because you drank me out of house and hearth last night. And by the way, you're paying for what you drank. Place is bone-dry thanks to you. What happened anyway? You and angel-boy have a fight?"

"Not talking about it," she said, sitting up gingerly and rubbing her temples. "Oh, god, Bobby I'm in a lot of pain. Can you at least get me some water and aspirin?"

His gaze softened slightly. "Sure. I've got food on the table too, and Dean is making some disgusting drink he swears will make you feel like dancing. You're all covered."

"Thanks, Bobby," she said, smiling weakly.

He grumbled an insult that she recognized as thinly-veiled affection and shuffled out of the room.

It took Eli some time to stumble into jeans and a sweater, brush her teeth, and make her way down the steps. The smell of pancakes and cooking meat was somehow both invigorating and nauseating.

"She emerges!" Dean's voice was entirely too loud and peppy. "Fresh from apparently a wild night of debauchery."

Eli glared at him through bloodshot eyes and settled herself gingerly onto a chair. "Far from it. I got wasted alone and was tucked into bed by an Archangel. And no, that's not a euphemism."

"Where's Cas?" Sam asked, taking a bite of bacon while Dean plopped a reddish-brown, pulpy drink in front of her.

"Don't know," she said shortly, sniffing the drink. "What is this? Do I smell horseradish? Worchester sauce? V-8?"

"Patented hangover cure," Dean said proudly. "And drink it up, 'cause we gotta talk."

Eli took a tentative sip and nearly gagged. "Oh, that's…awful." She took another sip. "How was the hunt?"

"Burned him alive," Dean said with a satisfied smile.

"Saved a bunch of kids, too," Sam said, resting his elbows on the table and eating with an enthusiasm usually only shown by his brother. "It was stalking a school; we caught him in the gymnasium and tossed a soccer net over him before burning his ass."

"Just like the good old days," Dean said, grinning and digging into his own pancakes. "Man, I've missed hunting. All the normal stuff: ghosts, vampires, werewolves, the classics. None of this world-ending crap."

"Speaking of world-ending crap," Bobby said, putting a plate in front of Eli and watching as she eyeballed it, hesitation clearly written on her face. "We had a little run-in with a demon last night, and he had some interesting news for us."

Eli took another sip of Dean's disgusting concoction and raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"Seems hell has figured out that Heaven is in a civil-war," Sam explained, standing to pour himself more coffee. "Heaven is leaderless and divided; the two people hand-picked by God himself are on the lam, and the two most powerful Archangels left are the ones backing the rebellion. It's chaos, and hell knows this."

"And?" Eli asked, taking a small bite of cold pancake and trying to ignore the spots still swimming in front of her eyes.

"And it seems they're on the offensive," Dean said roughly, finishing his food and pushing it away. "They've elected a leader, someone they call the "New Lucifer", and are preparing to march on Heaven."

Eli nearly choked on her pancake. "WHAT?" she asked, then immediately closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. "Ah, too loud. Okay. What made this demon tell you these things anyway? The goodness of its heart?"

Dean and Sam shrugged simultaneously. "Dunno," Sam said. "He just…told us. Said he wanted us to know how the world would end, and it wouldn't be Heaven winning."

"Didn't give any clue as to who this New Lucifer is, either," Dean said morosely. "Just cackled and vanished into the night."

"Maybe it was just taunting you," Eli suggested. Dean twisted his mouth thoughtfully.

"Maybe. Or maybe there's another Yellow-eyes, or Lilith, or Alastair out there, another twisted fuck who's just dying to control their own little hell-army."

"Wonderful," Eli groaned, pushing her plate away. "Any more good news?"

"Time is running out," Bobby said shortly. He was leaning against the counter with crossed arms and a worried expression on the part of his face that wasn't obscured by his hat. "The angels have started to get aggressive. It's like the apocalypse all over again: earthquakes, storms, general devastation. Add that to the demons acting up and it's turning into a nightmare. We can't hide out forever. Something has to be done."

"If anyone has any ideas, please, speak up," Eli said. "Because I am fresh out of options. I mean, how are we supposed to fight Heaven?"

"Easy. You sneak in through the back door and rob the house while the parents are out of town." Everyone turned to see Crowley standing in the doorway in his usual black attire, a grin on his face. "Hello, boys, girl. Having a lovely morning so far?"

They all stood, the men with a barely concealed, angry energy and Eli with a kind of calculating curiosity. "You son of a…" Bobby started, but she cut him off.

"You're here to help?" she asked. He rocked back on his heels, apparently unconcerned at the waves of hatred in the room.

"As always."

She crossed her arms. "How?"

"Well he can start by—" Dean said, but Crowley interrupted loudly.

"Yes, yes, you all hate me, give Bobby his soul, etcetera etcetera. But really, children, more important things on the table?" He turned back to Eli. "Angel wants to see you. He's got an idea. Thought you might be interested."

"Angel?" Sam asked warily. "Wait—another one? Who?"

"Fine," Eli said. "Right now?"

"Unless you're doing something else," Crowley said, raising a sardonic eyebrow at the mostly-uneaten breakfast and pulpy drink still sitting on the table. She shook her head.

"Lead the way."

"Now wait a minute, you can't just waltz in here and…" Bobby snapped, surging forward, but there was a chill breeze and both were gone. "Damnit." He turned to the Winchesters. "When did that girl get so damn secretive? It's starting to piss me off."

"You and me both, Bobby," Dean said, sitting back down and stealing Eli's plate. "You got any more syrup?"

* * *

Castiel was already there when Eli and Crowley arrived. They locked gazes for one tense moment, but then he furrowed his brow and turned away from her, and the sick feeling in Eli's stomach increased.

"Oh, you poor dear," Aziraphale said, dropping his book and rushing to her. "I can feel your pain from across the room." Eli started, thinking that he meant her emotional distress, but he just laid a cool hand on her forehead and evaporated the last of her hangover. "There. Feeling better?"

She blinked dazedly. "Thanks. I really have to figure out how to do that to myself."

"Always better to have someone do it for you," Aziraphale said sagely, taking her hand. "Come. I have tea, and news."

He led her into the sparse but cozy kitchen. She sat down at the hardwood table and drummed her fingernails, trying not to notice Castiel standing in the corner and staring at the ground.

The sick feeling was still there, balled in the pit of her stomach, and every moment of stress just made it bigger and fiercer. This was what happened when everything went to hell: she pushed all of that emotion down into her gut until it grew too large to contain. She wanted to vomit.

Aziraphale placed a china cup next to her and she smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Az," she murmured, breathing in the spirals of steam that rose from the richly brown liquid. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Castiel watching her, but couldn't decipher the expression on his face.

"Crowley, dear?" Aziraphale asked, lifting a cup. He smiled, and it was surprisingly soft.

"None for me, Angel, but perhaps we'd better begin?"

"Oh, all right," the angel huffed, sitting down across from Crowley and Eli. Castiel stayed standing, staring into space, his head tipped to show that he was listening. "I've been doing some sneaking around in Heaven; nothing too obvious, as I'm still suspect." He smiled slightly. "But I'm able to come and go as I please. There are those who support you, but they are completely cowed by the Archangels' new dictatorship. They're lying low, waiting for a leader." He shifted his gaze to Castiel. "Someone who they trust to lead them against the oppressors."

Castiel met his gaze evenly. "Me?" he rasped, and Aziraphale nodded.

"You're still Number One in a lot of books, my friend. Now I can get you in..."

"And do what?" Eli asked harshly. "Lead an army?"

Aziraphale gave her a steady gaze, like he knew everything that was going on in her head. "The first time? Just to talk. Get the rabble-rousers, well…rabbling. They need to know that you two are still fighting, that they are not alone."

"And later?" Castiel asked, still not moving from his spot. Aziraphale shrugged.

"That's up to you. I believe your best chance at winning would be to steal the collar from Remiel, and you could only accomplish that with some very well-placed insiders. Take it away from him, and the Archangels have lost their ace in the hole."

"You do realize that hell is planning an attack, don't you?" Eli pointed out. Crowley and Aziraphale shared a look, then Aziraphale placed his hand on top of hers and spoke with the utmost kindness and patience.

"That's why we need to do this now. Before it's too late."

Eli looked at his hands, soft and surprisingly well-manicured, then at Castiel, who was squinting at the floor, clearly deep in thought. She took a deep breath.

The doorbell rang.

Everyone's heads shot up. "Oh, no," Aziraphale said in a despairing voice, while Crowley let out a louder and more vulgar expletive. "Not them. Not now."

"Who?" Eli asked. Aziraphale was already standing and ushering her and Castiel into a back room.

"Angels."

" _What_?" Eli exclaimed as they approached a freestanding wardrobe next to what was apparently Aziraphale's very large bed. "Why are they here? What are we going to do?"

"Helping to stop the apocalypse has brought me under some…scrutinization," Aziraphale said as quickly and as delicately as he could. "Some of the more toadying angels pop in every once in a while to check up on me. Nothing to worry about. Now get in the closet."

"What?" Eli asked as he swung the wardrobe door open. Castiel just stood there silently, worry etched on his face.

"Well, you can't fly away, they'll notice," Crowley said in a bored tone that only thinly disguised his worry. The doorbell rang again. "But these rooms all have hiding sigils on them; they won't be able to sense you. Just _stay quiet_."

"And you?" Castiel asked, eyeing the interior of the wardrobe with suspicion. Crowley shrugged.

"I'll find my own hiding spot. I'm good at it, if you hadn't notice. Now inside, unless you want to lose this war before you've even started."

Castiel and Eli shared one tense glance, then both clamored into the closet. It was filled with tweed and old coats and, oddly enough, a very old patchwork magician's outfit. It smelled like mothballs and dusty wood. Eli suddenly remembered reading _The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe_ when she was a child, and had to suppress the urge to giggle nervously.

A bell tinkled at the entrance to the shop. "Anael, Zamuel, what a surprise," Aziraphale's voice wafted to them. It sounded normal, but there was a slight anxiety to its tone that made Eli wince. "And what can I do for you this fine day?"

"Aziraphale," said a sniffy voice. "Still mucking about with the mud monkeys, I see."

"Oh, well, you know…just doing my job, and all that," Aziraphale said, more nervous than ever. "Tea?"

"We've heard disturbing reports," said a second voice, this one colder and snider, like someone just waiting for their chance to hurt something. "That you are still fraternizing with the crossroads demon."

"F-fraternizing?" Aziraphale asked, and Eli could almost picture him wringing his hands. "Oh, no. No no no. We're enemies. That demon…he's a bad demon. Tempting people and such. I know this."

"And yet you collaborated with him to stop the apocalypse," the first voice pointed out. Aziraphale coughed delicately.

"I had to put aside my reservations in that particular case…for the greater good, you see."

"Hm." The voice didn't sound convinced. "Mind if we take a look around?"

Heavy footsteps sounded in their direction, and after a moment the bedroom door was flung open and the angels entered the room. Eli could see them through a crack in the wardrobe: the first was tall and thin, with a hollow face and almost colorless blue eyes, black hair slicked neatly back. The second was lanky and blond, with a wild, feral grin. Both of them scared her down to her bones.

As if sensing her fear Castiel's arm snaked around her waist and pulled her to him, so that her back was flush against his chest and she could feel his hot breath on her ear. She blinked back tears. It was all too much: the danger outside the doors, the apocalypse, the wardrobe with its sad musty smell, his touch and warm body when she knew that he could barely look at her, when she knew that he was disgusted with her. That she had to stand there in terror and be forced together with him when she couldn't be with him. It was getting hard to breathe.

"Well," said the blond one, smirking, while the other prowled unnervingly close to the wardrobe. "That's an awfully big bed for a being who doesn't need to sleep."

"I…have neighbors," Aziraphale said. "I like to keep up appearances."

"I'm sure you do," he giggled. The dark-haired man tore his gaze away from the wardrobe doors to glare at his companion.

"Anael. Don't be vulgar." He flickered his gaze to Aziraphale. "We're sorry for intruding on you like this, Aziraphale. You know how it is. You have connections with the demon who we believe to be helping the Winchesters, the rogue angel, and the Abomination. He also had a hand in preventing the previous two apocalypses. You can see how you would fall suspect. This must go smoothly. We have to make sure that no one is going to attempt to thwart the decisions of Remiel and Sariel."

"Of course not," Aziraphale said humbly. "They are Archangels; their word is law. I am simply obeying orders and watching over the humans."

"We shall see," Zamuel said enigmatically, running one long finger along the slightly-dusty desk. "Have a good day, my brother. We shall leave you to your…books."

They left the room single-file. Just as the front door tinkled open Eli heard Zamuel's voice one last time. "Oh, and brother?"

"Hmm?" Aziraphale said.

"If you see that demon again, you will report it to us, won't you?"

"Of course, brother."

"Excellent."

The door swung shut.

A moment later Aziraphale was opening the wardrobe doors with an apologetic look on his face. "I am so sorry," he gushed. "That's the third time they've come this month. They must be watching…"

Eli didn't hear the rest of the sentence. She pushed past him and into the kitchen, where she leaned over the sink and vomited until she had nothing left in her system. Dimly she was aware of Aziraphale's worried, sympathetic words and the fact that Castiel was by her side, holding her hair back gently.

"You are making yourself ill," he murmured. She shook her head.

"I'm just sick, that's all."

"You and I both know that you can not get sick," Castiel said in a vaguely reprimanding tone. "Do you want to tell me why you are really ill?"

"Please, just…don't," she gasped, pushing away and running from the room. The apartment had a small back patio, all green and leafy with a wrought-iron bench. She collapsed on it, head in her hands, trying to pull herself together.

"Elijah…"

She heard his voice and almost cringed. "Cas, please. I can't see you right now, okay?"

He sat down next to her and gently pried the hands from her face. "You're ill because of me," he stated, sounding very wounded. "Has our fight made you that upset?"

She started to laugh and it turned into a choking cough. "Our fight? You mean when I fucked everything up like an idiot and you left in a rage and can now barely look at me? And the fact that the apocalypse is coming _because of me_ and I'm sitting around and can't do anything about it? Yeah, Cas, I'm upset. So please, just leave me alone, because I can't do this right now."

"Elijah," he said, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. "Look at me." She stared resolutely at the ground, her eyes red and wet. "Please, Eli," he implored, and she tentatively lifted her gaze. He cupped her face in his hand. "I was angry and upset, and I needed time to think. That didn't mean…that I wasn't going to come back."

She blinked. "It…didn't?" she croaked. "But…"

"I am new to this," he said, tenderly tracing her jaw with his thumb. "I am unused to dealing with these powerful emotions. I am unused to jealousy, rage, worry…love. I needed time to be angry. But I will always come back to you, Eli. I promise you that."

On impulse Eli threw her arms around his shoulders and buried her head in his neck, breathing in his wonderful summer and sun smell. "I'm so sorry," she mumbled. "I was a complete ass, and a liar, and…"

"Very human," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I know."

"Well, this is cozy, but might'nt we get on with the sneaking into Heaven?" said Crowley's bored voice. Eli lifted her head from Castiel's shoulder to glare at him.

"There's no way Az and Cas can go now, not with those angels lurking about. And where were you?"

"Actually, now is the perfect time," Aziraphale said before the demon could answer, breezing in. He adjusted his spectacles and stared at her over the top of them. "There's no way that they will be expecting me to make a move now, not after that little Big Brother demonstration. We should leave immediately."

Eli and Castiel stood, but Crowley put a hand on her shoulder. "You know you're not going with them, right?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, and she hesitated for a moment before nodding.

"Yeah, I know." She turned to Castiel, gripping the front of his trench coat. "Come back to me," she said in a low, insistent voice. He nodded, leaning down to gently brush her lips with his.

"Always," he murmured.

There was the soft rustle of wings, and the two angels were gone. Eli stood there, hands gripping the air. She could still taste him.

"Well, now that they're out of the way," Crowley said merrily, clapping his hands together with enthusiasm. "How do you feel about you and me taking a little trip to hell?"

 


	16. In Which Going To Hell Is Not Figurative

 

 

"You see, the thing is this," Crowley was saying over a nice supper in central London. "Hell is getting ready to march. Not much to be done about it now."

"Wonderful," Eli said dryly, playing with her chicken breast and pasta. She took a sip of soda, feeling out-of-place among the chandeliers and white-suited waiters. "So what's the plan?"

"You are," he said simply. She raised an eyebrow. "Look, ducky, hell is disorganized, but they do have a common foe: Heaven. That unites them. If they march on their own, they're the enemy, a wild card, something to be feared and fought. But if you can get them under your control, get them to _listen_ to you…their little march on Heaven could be just the distraction you need."

"Help hell attack Heaven?" Eli asked skeptically. "Are you saying we should work with hell?"

"Just for a little while," Crowley said, dabbing his lips with a white cloth napkin. "You want to get the collar away from Remial, right? What better time than when he's distracted by an oncoming hell-army? If you know when and where they will attack, how they will attack, if you can control aspects of that attack…it will give you more power. Maybe even the power you need to go through with this insane plan of yours. Plus, without Lucifer, hell can never defeat Heaven. We both know this. And Heaven can't really hate you more than it already does. So what's the harm?"

Eli still hesitated. "It just seems…wrong," she finally said. He leaned across the table.

"With hell at your back and the loyal of Heaven at Castiel's back, you two might have a chance. Shouldn't you at least consider it? Like I said, there will be a battle, no matter what you do. And if you have no control over hell's actions there is that much more chance of someone getting caught in the crossfire. Even worse, you don't want to take the chance that _hell_ would get their hands on the collar, now do you?"

Eli gnawed at her lower lip, conflicted. "Why would they even listen to me, anyway?" she asked. "I helped stop the apocalypse. I'm no friend of theirs."

"But you _are_ an Abomination," Crowley pointed out. "And a damn powerful one, at that. Heaven is hunting you down as we speak, which gives you common ground with the rest of hell. You were instrumental in the fall of an angel. And, most importantly, you're working with me." He gave her a gleaming smile. "I might have put in a good word or two for you with the more prominent members of hell. Or, a bad word, as it were. Publicity. It works wonders."

Eli drummed her fingers on the table. "What about this New Lucifer?" she asked, watching the demon with narrowed eyes. "Who is he? Won't he have something to say about my swanning in and attempting to forge an alliance with his people?"

Crowley smirked, and there was something sharp-edged and dangerous in that smirk that made Eli shiver. "Oh, you don't need to worry about _him_ ," he said in a smooth voice. " _He_ won't be a bother at all. Now—deal? Yes, no? Supper is over. Moment of truth."

"Now?" she asked incredulously, choosing to ignore his secretiveness. "Couldn't I wait for…"

"Castiel can't come," Crowley said flatly. "He may be a fugitive as well but he's still a full angel. Not welcome. And he's got his own work to do." He looked at her condescendingly. "Darling, really. Do you think angel boyfriend is going to _approve_ of you going to hell? I think not. Perhaps for the moment we should keep this to ourselves, hmm?"

Eli pushed her plate to the side and gently thumped her forehead against the table with a groan. "And here I thought I was done lying to the people I love," she muttered. Crowley rolled his eyes and finished his wine with one last sip.

"Yes, yes, moral dilemmas are difficult, I'm sure. Now come on. You've already decided you're going to do it. No time like the present. And don't worry about the meal—it's on me."

* * *

Going to hell was surprisingly easy.

There was no gate or portal or long dim tunnel. Crowley just gripped her hand, gave her a vaguely unnerving grin, and told her to close her eyes. She did so; there was the feeling of falling, through the earth and rock and magma, down into something deep and hot and dark, and then her feet touched down onto cold tile and they were there.

"Hell," Crowley said blandly as she opened her eyes. "Not bad, once you get used to it."

They were in a stark, hexagonal room floored with black marble and lined, eerily enough, with mirrors. Eli could see copies of herself in each one; they turned and moved with her like a reflection should, but there was something _off_ about them, like each shifted when she wasn't looking, like if she turned fast enough she could catch a glimmer of foreign emotions in the mirrored green eyes.

"This…is hell?" she asked tentatively. Crowley shrugged, conjuring a glass of whiskey out of thin air and sipping it nonchalantly. "Where's all the, you know, torture?"

"Well, this is a _room_ in hell. A waiting room, you might say. Torture's in another section entirely." He peered at her over the top of his glass. "You don't think that's all we do all day, year in and year out, do you? Torture humans? We're a _society_ , darling. We've got other things on our mind than just disemboweling and the rack." He shook his head. "Humans. You always think everything is about you."

Eli looked around the blank space, trying hard not to shudder at the strangely creepy reflections of herself. "So where is this waiting room? And what are we waiting for?"

"Your speech, of course," Crowley said calmly. "I do hope you came prepared."

"… _Speech_?" Eli blustered, staring at him with wide eyes. He raised his eyebrows.

"I told you you were going to present your case. They're all waiting outside. Don't worry, you won't be able to see them at all. But they're just _dying_ to hear what you have to say."

Eli could have sworn that one of her reflections smiled, just for an instant. Then she studied it more intently and it was back to normal, pale and nervous and vaguely queasy. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Ok. Ok. So I'm in hell. And I'm going to give a speech. To demons."

"And other hell-spawn," Crowley said helpfully. "We are a many and varied people." She glared at him. He sighed. "Look, don't think about it too much. Just state your case. They already have the details, thanks to yours truly, but they need to hear it from your mouth. They need someone strong, Eli. They need to know you're up to the task. So go impress them. Don't let all of my hard work be for nothing."

"Go where?" Eli asked. He nodded to a spot behind her shoulder.

"Through the door, of course. There is only one."

She turned to see that one of the mirrors had darkened, turned into a partial-window. She could still see her reflection, now openly smirking wickedly at her, but now she could also see a balcony and a long stretch of darkness beyond it, punctuated by the flash of fire and the scent of brimstone and sulfur.

"There?" she croaked. Crowley beamed and gave her a little push.

"Your audience awaits."

Cautiously she walked up the mirror. Reflection-Eli mimicked her movements, bringing up her hand at the same time Eli did, so that their palms pressed together. The other reflections watched, fascinated.

"We've been waiting for you," Reflection-Eli said, just as Eli pushed forward and moved through the mirror like it was nothing more than smoke.

Crowley had been right: she couldn't see anything. Just a rough-hewn stone balcony and beyond that, darkness. Every once in a while a shape would flicker past the corner of her eye; she thought she saw wings, the flash of red and white eyes, the twisting, sinuous movements of bodies very clearly not human. And she sensed them, waiting, listening, all sharp teeth and rasping tongues and anticipation. The smell of sulfur was overwhelming.

She cleared her throat nervously. "Um…hello…hell." She resisted the urge to wave and say _What's up?_ "Uh, my name…my name is Elijah Grant, though I guess you already know who I am. I'm here because the demon Crowley asked me to talk to you, about your, uh, Heaven problem. He thinks I can help."

The air had gone very still and silent, like a thousand monsters were breathlessly listening to her every word. She strengthened her voice and continued.

"Ok, here's the deal. Heaven has a way to open up the pit and let Michael and Lucifer out to have their big battle. And that is not a good thing for you, because if that happens, Heaven is _going to win_. That's a fact. I mean, come on. In the end, Lucifer was defeated by _Sam Winchester._ A _human_. Him and Michael locked away is the best thing that could have happened for you. Because if they're let out? Goodbye, hell, hello paradise on earth. And who wants that?"

There was a shifting and a strange, sibilant murmuring in the darkness. Eli took that as her cue to keep speaking. "The only way to stop this is to put the control of Heaven back in the hands of people who understand the balance. You're not stupid—you know that no matter how disorganized it may be, you're never going to defeat Heaven in a battle. But you can at least make sure that they don't wipe you out. And to do that we need to get their greatest weapon—the collar. You know what it is. It needs to be destroyed. I know some of you might want it for yourselves but trust me, hell on earth really wouldn't be that much of a dream either. No more humans to corrupt, no more sin and wayward souls. Just torture. I'm sure that's fun, but earth is the center of all of this, and if you take that away, everything collapses. Lucifer himself wasn't going to make it hell on earth. He was just going to make it _his_ earth. And no matter what you say, I doubt any of you had a place in it. Don't forget, he was an angel."

The rustling grew louder, and there was something oddly approving about it. "So listen to me!" Eli continued loudly, lifting her hands. It was starting to feel real, these words she was saying, like she actually believed them. It scared her, a little, but in a good way. "Follow me! Help me restore the balance. Help me make sure that Heaven has no more interference on earth. Together we can take down Remiel and Sariel, we can take down all those who want to destroy earth and hell with it. This is _destiny_ , your destiny! So take it!" She dropped her hands and shrugged nonchalantly. "Or ignore me and attack Heaven by yourselves, see how that goes for you. But don't come crawling back when you're crushed under an Archangel's designer shoe."

Then, because she thought that hell would appreciate her leaving on an icy note, she turned on her heel and strode back through the smoky doorway and into the waiting room. This time there was a small table with two chairs, Crowley relaxing in one of them, and instead of mirrors the room was lined with old wooden doors, giving the whole atmosphere a vaguely dungeons-and-dragons quality.

"Lovely, just lovely," Crowley said, smoking a cigar and beaming at her. Eli sank down onto the other chair, her legs shaking with exhaustion and adrenaline. "That'll keep their knickers in a bunch for weeks."

"Now what?" she asked wearily, resting her elbows on the stone table. Crowley puffed on the cigar and blew sweet-smelling smoke into the air.

"Now it's time for a test run. See how well the message took. And I've got just the place. Auntie T's Bar and Restaurant."

"That's right near Bobby's house," Eli said suspiciously. "Why there?"

Crowley finished his cigar and placed the still-smoking end on the table. "Because that's where your friends are being attacked right now." He glanced at her with false surprise. "Oh, didn't I tell you? Time runs differently in this part of hell. You've been gone for three days."

* * *

Coming back to earth was like emerging from a burning building. The air seemed sweeter and cleaner than ever, even on the exhaust-fume choked highway that ran past the old bar.

Eli staggered when her feet hit solid concrete. She leaned on the side of the building and vomited, feeling like she was purging all the sickness and evil from her system. She breathed in deeply and rested her head on the brick wall, trying to understand what had just happened. Everything was going too fast. Had she really just gone to _hell_? Had three days really passed on earth? Her time in Heaven seemed so long ago as to be a dream.

"You best hurry, love," Crowley said blandly. "By now they should be rather surrounded. You're lucky I heard about this little attack in time for you to thwart it, but you do need to move your ass. I would hate to have to collect Bobby's soul before his ten years are up."

Eli shot him a glare and straightened, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "You gonna help or just stand there?"

"Oh, I'm coming along," the demon said in a bright tone, following her to the door. "I don't want to miss this."

The inside was chaotic. Eli burst in, guns out, to find Dean, Sam, and Bobby back-to-back and surrounded by the liquid-black eyes of demons. As one they looked up to see her standing there, and their jaws dropped.

"Hey boys," she said. "Need help?"

"Where the hell have you been?" Dean snapped at the same time that Sam yelled an emphatic: " _Yes!_ "

She lifted her guns. "Ok, jackasses, I suggest that you all back away slowly from my friends or I'm gonna have to…" She trailed off. All the demons had turned to her, but there wasn't anger or hate on their faces. There was reverence.

As one, they dropped to the ground in front of her, faces to the floor, and shouted up a single word. " _Hail!"_

"Oh, shit," Eli breathed. She turned to the smirking demon next to her. "Crowley, what did you _do_?"

"Publicity," he said, grinning. "Maybe I wasn't clear enough before. You're their new leader. It seems they've taken quite a shine to you."

Eli processed this for a moment. "You mean… _I'm_ the New Lucifer?"

Crowley looked inordinately pleased with himself. "I'm good, right? Oh, I'm very good. You can thank me later."

"You son of a…" she started, advancing toward him, but stopped as she saw the figure silhouetted in the doorway, his face a mask of shock and betrayal.

Castiel had returned from Heaven.

 


	17. In Which The New Lucifer Is Rather Displeased With The Title

 

 

Eli didn't know where they were. Wherever it was, it was nighttime, the stars twinkling like a city in the sky. It was also cold, and flat, and empty; most likely Kansas. The kind of place you could shout your head off and no one would hear you.

Castiel had grabbed her arm and transported them there from the bar, leaving behind three stunned and confused hunters, one smug crossroads demon, and about ten prostrate lower-level demons. When they arrived, Eli's feet slamming onto dry grass and compact dirt, Castiel immediately let go of her arm and she stumbled, nearly twisting her ankle.

Eli caught herself before she hit the ground and turned to him. He was sitting on an old tire along the side of a long dirt road that seemed to stretch to nowhere; he was staring blankly into space, his fingers laced neatly over his knees. There was something terrifying about the cool emptiness of his expression.

"Cas…" she started quietly, kneeling next to him in the dirt. "I had no idea." She reached out to touch his leg but he jerked it away, still staring into space with his brow deeply furrowed. "You have to believe me."

"You went to hell," Castiel stated in a flat voice. "You reek of sulfur."

"Crowley said…"

"You're trusting demons now?" he asked, too calmly, tipping his head but still not looking at her. "Like Sam trusted Ruby?"

"I thought that Crowley was…different," she said lamely. "I mean, Az trusts him."

"Aziraphale is a fool," Castiel rasped. "He sees only what he wishes to see because he is blinded by his emotions." He was silent for a moment. "Perhaps I too have been guilty of this."

Eli sat back, thunderstruck. "What…what are you saying?" she croaked. He didn't answer. "Cas, please, you're scaring me."

"I am scaring you?" he said with a trace of irony. Finally he turned to look at her, but she couldn't read any emotion in his eyes. It was like he had shut it all down, back to the emotionless angel she had first met. "Elijah, regardless of your intentions, you are now the leader of hell. I am mobilizing the faithful of Heaven. You are, by very definition, my enemy."

Eli was near-speechless. "No, Cas, I did this… I did it to _help_. To make sure that hell wouldn't attack us, wouldn't kill someone or mess up your plan! I never intended, I never _wanted…_ "

"Are you sure of that?" he asked, and his gaze slid off of her like water, back to staring at the desolate stretch of road. Eli wrapped her arms around herself, shivering.

"What do you mean?"

"You always did seem happiest when there was something to fight," he said in an empty voice. "Something wrong, some kind of danger. You were never content with peace, or simplicity."

"I'm not happy about this, Cas," she insisted. "I'm not happy about any of this. The world is _ending_ , and it's my fault."

"Yes," he agreed quietly. "It is."

"Cas, you are seriously freaking me out," she said, feeling her heart ache like something huge and sharp was pressing on it. "I don't know how else to get through to you. _I didn't want this_. This is Crowley's idea of some sick twisted joke. I am not at fault here!"

"Not at fault?" he asked, and something sparked in his voice, the first flare of emotion. He looked at her with narrowed eyes. "What about the lies, Eli, and the half-truths, the fact that you trusted a demon, that you went to hell, and even more, that hell _accepts you_ as their leader? Do you think that hell would accept just anyone who strode into their territory and delivered a pretty speech? They know you, Eli, they see the darkness inside of you and they like it. War knew what you would become. They believe that you belong with them."

" _But I don't_!"

"Are you so sure?"

"I'm not evil!" she cried. "All I've ever wanted is to do good, to make this right…"

"The road to hell is paved…" he started, and she leaned back, lifted her hand, and slapped him as hard as she could.

"How can you say this to me, after everything that's happened?" she demanded, tears filling her eyes. "You asshole! How can you abandon me now? We've been through _everything_ together. We stopped the apocalypse! We saved everything! I was there with you when you fell, during your darkest hours, and you…you're just going to sit there and _preach_ at me like I'm some kind of…" She trailed off, barely able to speak.

"How did you expect me to react to this?" Castiel asked in a low voice. "Did you expect me to be happy that you are now the leader of hell?"

She took a shaking breath. "I expected some…some _loyalty_. I expected you to stand by me, no matter what!"

"Above all else, I serve God," he said harshly, clenching his hands into fists. "I am still an angel, and you are a…"

He stopped abruptly, but Eli knew what he had almost said. "Is that all I am to you?" she asked. "After all this time, underneath it all, I'm still an abomination?"

"I didn't say that," he said, looking at her, his eyes huge and pained.

"But you were thinking it."

He didn't answer. Eli tried one more time.

"This is not my fault," she said in a quiet, shaking voice. "You can't blame me for it. All of this is happening because of me and …I was just trying to stop the world from going to hell."

"You're right," he said coldly. "All of this is happening because of you." He stood, shaking out his trench coat.

"What are you…" she started, and he looked her in the eye.

"None of this would be happening if it weren't for you. Heaven would not be divided. The fate of the world would not be in danger if you hadn't been here. Perhaps…" He lowered his voice to a harsh rasp. "Perhaps all of this could have been avoided if you hadn't been awoken. Perhaps it would have been better. For all of us."

Eli couldn't breathe. She stood and walked to him, fixing her eyes on his back and trying to keep the world from spinning. "You can't mean that."

His shoulders shook, slightly. "I'm not sure what I mean, anymore."

Castiel shifted as if to disappear, and she lurched forward, coming around to face him like she could physically prevent him from flying away. "Are you going to come back?" she asked breathlessly, tears dripping from her flooded eyes against her will. "Is this…is this one of those times when you just need to be alone?" He didn't answer. She raised her voice to a desperate plea. "Tell me you're going to come back!"

He paused, then shook his head slowly. "I don't think I can…do this, right now," he said in a very pained voice.

"Cas!" she exclaimed, hating how her voice broke, and he closed his eyes as if unable to take seeing her pain. "Right now is all we have! You can't just walk away, the world is ending…"

His eyes flew open like her words had touched a raw nerve. "The world is always ending!" he shouted in a rough voice. "That can't keep being our excuse to ignore everything that is wrong! And no matter what you say, you're _wrong_ , Eli, and this situation is wrong, and the world is wrong, and _we're_ wrong! I can't keep ignoring that! I have a duty to take care of those who rely on me and I can't do that with the leader of _hell_ by my side! You're a liability now! And you've done this! So don't _tell_ me that it's the end of the world, because I damn well know it is, and I am the one who is going to have to fix it."

He vanished, leaving Eli behind with nothing but the sound of wings and a long dark stretch of nowhere road.

* * *

Castiel appeared moments later in Chuck's abandoned house.

"Chuck!" he called, knowing that there was no one there but needing to try anyway. He tromped through the mess, left exactly the way it was when the prophet disappeared, leaving muddy shoe-prints on stray pieces of paper and stirring up the thin curtain of dust that lay over everything. "Where are you? Where did you go? We need a prophet!"

Nobody answered. The house was quiet and still. Castiel entered the kitchen, the old typewriter still sitting on the cluttered table, and lowered his voice to a pained rasp. "We need a prophet."

He knew that this would be a dead-end, but he didn't know where else to go. He sat down and stared blankly at the typewriter, trying to stem the trembling panic that was rising within him.

How had everything gone so _wrong_? Castiel thought back to the harsh words he had used, at the shocked and horrified look on her face, and winced. He didn't want things to be like this between them. He just felt so _betrayed_ , and fooled, knowing that she had been running around behind his back with demons. And his words, however harsh, had been the truth—they were enemies now. He was fighting for Heaven. She was-Father, he could barely think the words—leading hell. She had lied to him, again and again, lied since the very beginning when she had acted happy in Heaven but had been dying on the inside.

Suddenly he was angry, angrier than he had been in a long time. He stood up, sweeping stacks of papers from the desk and watching them flutter to the ground with bitter satisfaction. How _dare_ she do this to him? Break the only good thing left in his life, leave him in her dust as she turned down a darker path that he clearly wasn't a part of. Was she _stupid_? How had she expected this to work out? Every time he put his trust in her hands she broke it, smashed it to a million pieces, how could he love someone who lied all the time, who ran off and martyred herself at the first opportunity and who never, never just worked with him and _listened to what he had to say._

And now she was gone. Gone for good, gone because he had cut her deeper with his words than he ever thought possible, and that was his fault, it was her fault, they were both so wrong and he couldn't have her but he _couldn't live without her, how was he supposed to when she was the only happiness he had ever known, his only reason to keep fighting, how could she do this to him and was it his fault but he couldn't go back couldn't stand by her couldn't couldn't couldn't…_

His thoughts dissolved into an incoherent mass of pain. He swept his arm out, not even meaning to, and sent the old typewriter crashing to the floor in a bent heap of keys and busted metal. It felt strangely good, causing destruction, and after a moment he picked up a stained whisky-glass and smashed it against the wall, watching it shatter, liking the sound it made. He pulled out a drawer and heaved it into the next room; it splintered, sending up clouds of dust and papers that drifted like false snow. Castiel curled his hands around the edge of the desk, breathing heavily, contemplating tipping it over just to watch it fall. He looked down.

Inches from his hand sat an old key; it was clean, sitting neatly in the dust-free square left from the typewriter. His long fingers brushed over it curiously. Clearly it had been hidden. But why? What would Chuck have to hide? And if it was important enough to be hidden, why would he have left it behind?

Somehow, Castiel had the feeling that he was _supposed_ to find it.

He scooped it up, fingering the jagged edge with a thoughtful look on his face, then began to search the house. He opened up drawers and cabinets, checked under chairs and beds, pulled musty sheets and stacks of hidden porno from closets.

Finally, under a carelessly thrown blanket and a box of surprisingly graphic DVDs in the back of the hall closet, he found it.

Castiel used his inhuman strength to pull the safe from its hiding spot with ease. He sat down on the floor in one graceful motion, crossing his legs, and bent to insert the rusting key. It slid in without protest, and clicked easily.

In the back of his mind, Castiel had been hoping that it would be nothing. More porn, perhaps, or embarrassing short stories, or money. What he found was a stack of manuscripts, neatly bound and spotless. Carefully Castiel pulled the first one out, noting with surprise the title. _It's The Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester._ He pulled out the next. _I Know What You Did Last Summer._ And the next. _Heaven And Hell._ All the way down to the one labeled _Swan Song._

"This doesn't make any sense," he muttered to himself, flipping idly through _Lucifer Rising_. These were just Chuck's unpublished Supernatural books, the same ones stacked on the coffee table, the same ones left behind when the prophet disappeared. Why were they under lock-and-key? And why did they begin with _It's The Great Pumpkin_ , and not _Lazarus Rising_ , the first of his unpublished books?

Castiel looked at the manuscript in his hands a bit more closely. He opened from the beginning and began to read. It didn't take him long to discover what was wrong.

Castiel read all of the books, cover to cover. Then he read them again. And again. The sun rose, bathing the room in a warm yellow glow. The angel didn't notice.

He was still sitting there seventeen hours later.

* * *

When Eli was able to pull herself together she went straight to England.

She didn't want to go back to Bobby's house and answer the inevitable questions, the foremost of those being: " _So hey, what's up with you being the New Lucifer?_ " She couldn't listen to them scream at her the way that Castiel had. She couldn't take that. Not now.

So instead she flew to a cramped bookshop in central London, where she could find a sympathetic angel who would make her tea, and if she was lucky, a crossroads demon she could beat the ever-loving shit out of.

Eli materialized in the kitchen; she supposed it was rude, just barging in, but wasn't that what angels always did, pop up behind you like a damn ghost? And she was _hurting_ , goddamnit, and she wanted a fucking _hug_.

Eli took a deep breath to steady herself, but right as she was about to call out a shaky "hello?" the bedroom door swung open and someone walked out. Eli's words died on her lips.

Crowley was standing there, wrapped in a black silk bathrobe with clearly nothing underneath it, his short hair mussed like someone had been running fingers through it. His feet were even bare, something she found so odd as to be incomprehensible.

They just gaped at each other for a few seconds. Eli had to resist the urge to start giggling; not because it was particularly funny, but because it's what she did when she was nervous or shocked. He finally shut his mouth with an audible snap and smoothed the front of his bathrobe with nervous fingers. "If you tell anyone about this…" he started. Eli backed away, holding up her hands.

"No. _No._ Ew. No. I'm just gonna go…bleach my brain, and…" She paused, then suddenly smiled, a cold little smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Well you know, I wouldn't _have_ to tell anyone about this if Bobby had his soul back…"

Crowley almost smirked. "You think I care that much?" he drawled. Eli shrugged.

"Probably not." She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture before he could say anything. "But I'm sure Az does." She crossed her arms and glared. "A picture for a picture?"

He hesitated for a moment, then gave a jerky nod. "This never happened," he hissed quietly. She nodded.

"Believe me, I'll be happy to forget this moment." She tucked the phone back into her pocket. "Just, ah, come get me when you're both…decent."

Then she turned on the spot and flew.

* * *

Eli arrived in the kitchen of Bobby's house, still reeling from what she had just witnessed. She had guessed that someone was going on, of course—she wasn't blind—but to see tangible proof…it was weird.

She snorted, picturing the look on Crowley's face, then noticed someone else was in the room, staring at her like she had just materialized from thin air.

"I'll never get used to that," Lucy said, putting down her book and rubbing her temples. "Never."

"Hey, darlin'," Eli said, pressing a kiss to the top of her friend's head and sitting down across from her at the table. "When did you get back?"

"About two days ago," Lucy said, rubbing her eyes tiredly. Eli noticed that she had bags under her eyes and that her dark hair was less shiny, flat and tucked behind her ears. "You were, uh, in hell apparently? I don't really know what's going on."

"Where did you go?" Eli asked in a quiet voice, playing with the flaking edge of the demonology book Lucy had been reading. Lucy shrugged.

"Just drove a lot. I needed some time alone. To process."

"Yeah, I understand," Eli said, a little sadly. Then she perked up. "Hey, why don't you and me go get something to eat? I'm thinking Italian. Maybe see a movie? A girls' night out. It'll be a good distraction from our troubles."

Lucy perked up a little bit. "Yeah, that sounds great. Everyone here has been pretty much ignoring me."

"Where are they, anyway?" Eli asked, looking around. "I thought they'd be piled in here screaming their heads off at me by now."

"Out back," Lucy said, nodding toward the back door. "Yelling at each other. They've been at it for the past half an hour. Are they always like this?"

"On the good days," Eli said, grinning. It was so easy to act normal around Lucy, to pretend for one moment that she was just Beth again and going out to dinner with her best friend, that the world wasn't going to shit and the love of her life hadn't abandoned her and Archangels weren't hunting down her ass and she wasn't inadvertently the new leader of hell. "C'mon, let's get out of here before they come back. I'm craving Gnocci like it's nobody's business."

* * *

In Chuck's house, Castiel was still reading.

 


	18. In Which We Contemplate A World Without Eli

 

 

Eli knew that the end was near when Aziraphale himself came to get her.

She was curled up in a ball on the couch when the angel appeared next to her, nearly invading her personal space. She looked at him dully as he touched her knee with one well-manicured hand.

"I think we should talk," he said quietly. "Will you come with me?"

She nodded, and a moment later the couch was empty.

They appeared this time in a park, at a picnic table. Crowley was already there, and Aziraphale sat next to him while Eli sat across, watching the families spread checkered blankets over their own tables and kids shriek and chase frogs down by the rushing stream. It was almost spring now and a chill still hung in the air, but sun cut across the blue sky and crocuses were poking through the damp earth.

Eli ran a finger along the sigils carved into the old wooden table. "Warding," she said softly. Aziraphale nodded.

"They won't be able to find us here."

"Any reason we're not in the shop?" she asked, looking around. A little girl had fallen into the mud and was now fidgeting as her mother wiped off clumps of dirt from her overalls. "Let me guess—a subtle message?"

"Only to remind us of how beautiful the world is," Aziraphale said, folding his hands together on top of the table. Crowley was uncharacteristically silent, staring at a nock in the wood with a pensive frown on his face. "I think we all need that reminder, sometimes. And it is a beautiful day."

"This is about the end of the world, isn't it?" Eli asked. "Well, come on then. Hit me. What disaster is happening now?"

"The battle," Crowley said in a monotone voice, and when his eyes met hers she was surprised to find fear reflected in them. "Between Heaven and hell. It's going to happen. Soon."

"And?" she asked, sensing that there was more. The demon sighed.

"It's going to happen on earth."

 _"What?"_ Eli hissed, curling her hands into fists. "I thought that this battle was supposed to _help_ us, that it was going to be an invasion of Heaven so we could sneak in and grab the collar… not an all-out battle that will deep-fry the planet!"

"None of us could have foreseen this," Aziraphale said patiently. "The angels learned about the impending attack and have decided to use the battle as an attempt to draw you out. They know you will do anything to stop this fight; they know how you care about the earth. They also know that hell expects you to lead the charge. They are, essentially, backing you into a corner."

Eli hesitated, wrapping her sweater tighter around her body as a chill breeze rustled the still mostly-bare branches and blew strands of messy yellow hair into her eyes. "Couldn't we use this to our advantage? The angels will be out of Heaven, so we can sneak in and…"

"The angels _will_ be out of Heaven," Crowley said dryly. "But they'll have the collar with them. No use sneaking in when there is nothing to steal."

"What if we win?" Eli asked, leaning forward, trying desperately to come up with some kind of plan. "We have an Archangel of our own, we have the faithful, we have _hell_ …"

"Winning would require fighting," Aziraphale said, placing a hand on hers and squeezing gently. "And fighting would mean the decimation of the earth. The final battle, only this time between two armies, not merely two Archangels. The devastation would be cataclysmic."

"Essentially, love, Remiel and Sariel have just put you in checkmate," Crowley said, pulling a flask from under his dark suit and taking a long drink. "Our little house of cards has officially fallen."

Eli buried her face in her hands, blinking back hot tears. Around her she could hear the children playing, the soft whispered rush of the river, the murmured conversation of the adults. "So that's it, then," she said brokenly. "We're out of options."

"Not…exactly," Aziraphale said in a delicate, strangely sad voice. "There is still one option left."

Slowly Eli raised her head from her hands. "What is it?"

The angel and demon glanced at each other. "Something, I fear, that you are not going to like very much."

* * *

In Chuck's house, Castiel finally stood and stretched. He looked at the sun bathing the room in a warm, buttery glow, and frowned, his brow deeply furrowed. Then he gathered up the manuscripts from the safe and carried them to the garden outside, where he stacked them in a neat pile, white pages ruffling in the spring breeze.

He touched a finger to the first book, and set it alight.

The angel watched them burn to ashes.

* * *

"Adam contacted us," Aziraphale said, shifting uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench.

"The Anti-Christ?" Eli asked, wiping unruly tears from her eyes. "I thought he was staying out of all this."

"He is…mostly. But he isn't stupid," Crowley said, shrugging. "He doesn't want a battle, and he doesn't want to get involved. But he's willing to help us save the world."

"I don't understand," Eli said, shaking her head. "If he's not going to get involved, how can he help?"

Aziraphale surprised her by coming around to her side of the table and sitting down, wrapping one arm around her like one would comfort an upset child. "Dear," he said softly. "You must know why this is all happening."

Eli nodded dully, Castiel's harsh words still ringing in her ears. "Because of me."

"Adam can change that," Aziraphale said in a very sad voice. He stroked her hair. "Change history. Change everything. This battle will never happen. Everyone will be safe."

"You only have to do one simple thing," Crowley said, sounding uncommonly serious. "The child will turn back time, to the moment when Azazel first released your powers. When the angels offer to wipe your memory, say yes. That's it."

"Wipe my memories?" Eli croaked, clutching Aziraphale's camel-hair coat with trembling fingers. She felt like she was going to be sick. "My life…"

 **'** _ **Perhaps all of this could have been avoided if you hadn't been awoken,'**_ Castiel snarled in her head. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the memory, but the anger and betrayal on his face haunted her. **'** _ **Perhaps it would have been better. For all of us.'**_

"You'll live a healthy, normal life," Aziraphale promised. "As a normal girl. The Winchesters will get along fine without you; Adam promises this. And you won't even know what could have been. You won't remember this world at all…because it won't have existed."

Eli swallowed harshly, trying to remember how to speak. "And Cas?"

"He'll be fine as well," Aziraphale promised. "Perhaps a bit colder, a bit sadder, but he will be…fine."

"And he'll never know the difference," Crowley said. "None of us will."

Eli didn't know what to say. She felt like this dark hole was opening up inside of her and she was falling into it, deeper and deeper. Every muscle in her body ached like she had been in a fight. Everything hurt.

All she ever wanted was to be different, to be special. She had craved it her whole life. Those nineteen boring years of _wishing_ were so empty compared to the eight years after it. She remembered with harsh clarity the monotony of being Beth, geek girl extraordinaire, of riding her bike to class every day and taking martial arts with the vague hope of somebody attacking her in a dark alley just so she could fight them off, because that was the only true excitement she was ever going to get.

Castiel had been right, when he ranted at her—she was masochistic. She was never happy with peace; she lived to fight, and to run, and to push herself so that everything became the perfect pinpoint clarity that only pain brought. And she loved being special, not just a face in a crowd, but something more, someone with a destiny. Even if that destiny was now destroying the world.

More than anything though, she loved Castiel, and the idea of never knowing him, of living her life without his warmth and presence was enough to cause her chest to close up and her vision to grow fuzzy.

But he was already gone from her life. The world was ending. And he would live. Wasn't that all that mattered?

Finally she found her voice. "Can I have a little time?"

Aziraphale rubbed her back, glancing at his demon with pained eyes. "Of course, dear. We understand that you need to think about it."

"Whatever you choose, now is the time to say your goodbyes," Crowley said, and to her surprise he touched her hand in what could almost be called a comforting gesture. "Either way, winter is ending."

Aziraphale kissed the top of her head. "We can only hope that spring will come soon."

* * *

Eli found him in his penthouse apartment.

"Woah, Blondie, what the…" the Archangel started when she appeared, red-eyed, her power sparking around her like it was trying to escape her body. Before he could say another word she slammed him up against the wall, tears raining down her face.

"Why haven't you helped us?" she yelled, her hands shaking but her grip surprisingly powerful. "You're an Archangel, for God's sake! Why have you done nothing but sit around? The world is _burning_ , Gabriel, everything is ruined and you…you've done nothing! Why didn't you try?"

"I did," he snarled, attempting to push her off, and after a moment she let go and staggered backward, staring at him balefully.

"Why didn't you try harder?"

"Because I couldn't, all right?" he snapped, running a hand through his hair. "I don't have the power!"

"Bullshit!" she yelled, starting to cry again. He grabbed her shoulders and forced her to look him in the eye.

"I'm not an Archangel anymore," Gabriel said, as calmly as he could. "I haven't been for a while, not since I was brought back from the dead. I'm like Cas. Cut off from Heaven. I don't have any more juice than your average angel, 'cept for my illusions. I'm sorry."

Eli glared at him and pulled away from his grasp. "Don't give me that crap! Or did you forget that you created a person? A person! Only God is supposed to be able to do that. And you're saying that you don't have the power to help us? You liar! You coward!"

"I don't know how I did it!" Gabriel said loudly, reaching for her again. She flailed her arms but he caught them in a gentle grip. "Be still," he ordered. "Look at me, Eli. I know I'm a coward, but do you really think I would have been sitting on my ass this whole time if I had really been able to help?"

She looked at him, then shook her head. "No," she cried, backing up and trying to pull her arms out of his grip, but he just moved with her, until her back touched the wall and she could go no further. "No, no, no. There has to…there has to be a way! You have to have been…holding out on us! Please tell me you've been holding out on us!"

"I'm sorry," he said softly, taking one step closer, until their bodies were nearly touching. He moved his hands from her wrists to her arms, holding her still. "But you know I'm not lying."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" she asked, meeting his gaze for the first time. Her eyes widened, as if suddenly aware of their proximity; she moved as if to say something, but before she could he leaned in and kissed her, hard.

She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck and digging her fingers into him almost desperately. She didn't even think about what she was doing; she was just so angry and in so much pain and Castiel was _gone_ , he had left her and this time there was no coming back from that. And this feeling, she wanted this feeling of forgetting and desire, she wanted to be wanted again, and not cast aside.

Eli pulled Gabriel tighter, tugging almost harshly on his lower lip with her teeth and sliding a knee between his legs. He moaned into her mouth and pinned her against the wall. He curled his hands into her hips and rocked them against his own, causing her to let out a breathy whimper.

Gabriel buried his face in her hair and let out a shuddering exhalation, his fingers tracing the curves of her body. She licked his neck, hands running up and down his chest, and he shifted against her, his breathing labored. "Eli…" he groaned. He moved his attention to her oversized jeans, working off the belt buckle and undoing the zipper before slipping one hand inside.

Eli's breath hitched at the touch of his fingers; she clutched his shoulders and let out a soft cry, her mind beautifully blank except for the sensations running through her like liquid fire. "Cas…"

That was the wake-up call. Both of them jerked away as if burnt; Eli almost looked confused, like she couldn't remember how exactly they had gotten into that position. After a moment she turned away from him, zipping up her jeans and rebuckling her belt with shaking hands.

"Fuck me," she swore softly. Behind her, Gabriel let out a rueful chuckle.

"Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to be an option."

"I'm sorry," she babbled, finally turning and wrapping her arms around her chest as if to protect herself from his stare. "I should never…I didn't mean…but I can't. I can't."

"I know," Gabriel said with resignation, sitting down with obvious discomfort and crossing his legs. "You love him. Got it."

"I'm sor…"

"Don't," he said, holding up his hands. "Just…don't. Let me keep a little of my pride, kay, Blondie?"

She nodded. "Okay."

"Hey," he said, before she could disappear with her shame and embarrassment. "Just what stupid thing are you planning on doing?"

She looked at him. "What?"

Gabriel gave a shadow of his usual smirk. "No one busts in near-hysterical like that, then attempts to rip someone's clothes off with their teeth, unless something is going down. Something big. Something's eating you up from the inside, Eli, and you're doing your damndest to push it away and ignore it. So what gives?"

"I'd focus on your own problems if I were you," she said, deflecting the question. He raised an eyebrow.

"Meaning?"

"How did you create a person, Gabriel, when you don't even have the juice of an Archangel?" she asked softly. "That's a hell of a problem right there. I'd look into that."

He let her leave without another word, his face scrunched up with worry and doubt.

There was only one place left for her to go. Home. The only home she'd known for a long time, and one she might never know again. Eli flew to Bobby's.

 


	19. In Which The Tin Man Gets A Heart, And The Scarecrow Gets A Brain

 

 

Her return to Bobby's house was strangely subdued, and the yelling that Eli had been expecting never came. After she told the hunters of the impending battle everyone just seemed to deflate. Even Bobby didn't have any scathing words for her, though he did seem marginally cheered when she told him that he had his soul back. None of them said anything when she flatly told them that Castiel was no longer speaking to her, and that she was going to sleep until the world decided to start making sense.

She awoke several hours later from a restless sleep to find him sitting on the edge of her bed. Eli opened her eyes slowly, fearing that he would not really be there, but the moonlight spilling into the room illuminated his features and his hand, warm as always, brushed tangled hair away from her forehead with unsurpassed gentleness.

"You're…here," she croaked, blinking back tears at the sight of his familiar face. She seemed to be crying nonstop these past few weeks. "Why...?"

Castiel silenced her by running a finger along her lower lip. "Our world," he said seriously. "Is better for you having been in it. I was hateful to you, and I was wrong. You are not going anywhere. You belong here. With me."

Startled, Eli pushed herself into a sitting position, thinking for a moment that he had heard about her secret plan to change history. But no—the look on his face was tender, not frantic like it would have been if he had known.

"What are you talking about?" she asked cautiously. "You're not angry? Everything you said…"

"Were the hurtful words of a stupid man," Castiel interrupted. "I only hope that you can forgive me for everything I…"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Eli lunged at him, nearly climbing into his lap and pressing her mouth to his with desperate relief. He was here with her again, and everything else faded away. She didn't care about what he said, she didn't care. In a normal world she would have, but soon this reality might not even exist and she just _didn't care._ She wanted to be with him, up until the end. She wanted to sear him into her memory and hope that, even if history was changed, some small part of this moment might come out the other side.

They made love slowly, tenderly; he treated her like she was made of glass, his fingers running with delicate precision over her body, his kisses long and lingering. She tried to imprint every aspect of him into her mind, memorize his taste and the way that his skin smelled, the feel of his soft hair, the curve of his ear and the pressure of his beautiful mouth, how he purred like a giant cat when she kissed the sensitive spot where his jaw met his neck, how his stubble rubbed her chin and the slight bags under his eyes somehow made his irises an even deeper shade of blue.

Afterward they laid together, her back to his chest, his arm around her side, fingers trailing along her stomach. Eli had the strongest sense of dejavu.

"Do you remember our first time?" she asked softly. "It was so frantic, but then after we laid just like this, and you said that you still had orders to follow. That someday you would do terrible things, and I would hate you. And I said, _I'm okay with that._ So easily. I think because I already loved you, even back then."

He kissed her shoulder, his voice a low rumble. "How could I forget?"

She turned into him, propping her head on one hand and lazily tracing the line of his arm with the other. "What made you come back to me?"

Castiel was quiet for a moment. "After I left you…" She could hear the regret and pain in his voice, and nuzzled his chin with her nose, silently urging him on. "I went to Chuck's. I know the prophet is gone but I was hoping for…something. Some kind of direction."

Eli bit her lip nervously. It seemed that Dean either hadn't believed her when she told him that Chuck was God or he hadn't passed that information on to Castiel. "Go on."

"What I found was…unexpected," he continued slowly, pausing to brush her forehead with his lips. He pulled her closer, as if afraid that she would suddenly disappear from his arms. "I found manuscripts. Hidden manuscripts."

Eli leaned back, trying to get a good look at his eyes. "What did they say?"

"They depicted a reality almost identical to the one that we know," he rasped, clearly upset. "Only with one difference." He met her gaze. "You were not in them."

Eli stiffened. Castiel finding those papers right after she had been given her ultimatum…it couldn't be a coincidence. Especially not when Chuck was involved. "What was it like?" she asked softly. "That world."

He hesitated. "Similar, but…darker. There was less joy. The Winchesters—they only had each other. Bobby was haunted and depressed. And I…" He took a shaking breath. "Was alone. Very alone. I still fell, and was hunted, but except for the brothers as my allies I had no one. No one to care if I died, no one to fight for. I just…existed." He fell silent for a long moment. "And in the end, Sam went to hell. Dean was a broken man. And I returned to Heaven…alone." Eli closed her eyes and he kissed her eyelids, cupping her face in his hands. "All of us are better off for having you in our lives, Elijah. You have brought us light, and peace. And love."

Eli felt the harsh prickle of tears rise to the surface again. She buried her face in his chest, not wanting to look him in the eyes. "But none of this would be happening now if it weren't for me," she mumbled against his hot skin. "You would be safe. The world…"

"Is always ending," he finished for her. "I was right when I said that. If it wasn't this it would be some new disaster. You are not responsible." He lifted her face from his chest so that he could kiss her, a sweet, lingering kiss. "You are precious to me," he rasped, pressing his forehead against hers. "And this world may burn, but I will not lose you. Not again; not ever."

"What did you do with the manuscripts?" she asked, trying to keep her wits about her as he moved his mouth down her body, making a trail from her neck to her breasts, and down to the soft skin of her stomach.

"I burnt them," Castiel murmured, his nose pressed to her hipbone. She combed her fingers through his hair as he moved down to her thigh, his mouth very warm and gentle, savoring her. "That world will never come to pass."

She didn't argue with him, just closed her eyes and tried to enjoy the moments she had left.

* * *

There was some sleep, but only small amounts of it. They watched the sun rise through the dirty window, Castiel propped up by pillows, Eli curled into his chest, the feel of his heartbeat steady and reassuring next to her cheek.

Outside, the day was dawning clear and cold, the horizon smudged a faded pink, the sky like a bruise. Eli blinked sleepily, yawning, and Castiel shifted so that she was nestled in the crook of his arm. He kissed the top of her head.

"You should sleep," he murmured. Eli yawned again but refused to close her eyes.

"We should take a vacation," she said. Castiel blinked.

"What?"

"After this. We should go somewhere far. Someplace new."

He rubbed his thumb in small circles against her shoulder, still a little confused at the turn the conversation had taken. "If you wish."

"But no zapping anywhere," she continued sleepily. "That's cheating. I mean a real vacation, human-style. Airplanes. Cheap hostels. Local food. Beaches. Long bus rides. Maybe South America. I've always wanted to see Argentina." She snuggled closer to him, her eyes drifting shut against her will. "I want to take a vacation with you. Will you do that with me? When all of this is over?"

"Of course," he said, stroking her hair. She smiled sadly.

"Promise?"

Some kind of longing in the way she said the words made him nervous. "Promise."

"Good," she mumbled. "I would like that."

Eli drifted into sleep as the sun rose. Castiel listened to her breathe, and was afraid.

* * *

Eli knew something was up when he joined her in the shower after she woke.

Okay, that part wasn't weird, but it was the way he did it: didn't ask, just followed behind her like a puppy, like he was afraid she would disappear if she was out of his sight for even a moment. This continued as she dressed and made her way down to the kitchen for breakfast, Castiel two steps behind. And then when she went out to the shooting range to blow off steam. And when she played a game of chess with Lucy and discussed strategy with Sam and Bobby and when she attempted to meditate. Everywhere she went, he followed, his blue eyes wide and unblinking.

It was when she was headed into the bathroom that she finally broke.

"No, you can't come in," Eli hissed, trying to close the door in his face. "What is up with you? _I have to go to the bathroom_."

He tilted his head. "And?"

"And it's private!" she replied with exasperation.

"It's merely a natural bodily function," he pointed out. She glared.

"Seriously, what is up? You've never tried to follow me into the _bathroom_ before."

He was silent. Eli waited a beat, then sighed. "We'll discuss this when I'm done. You just…stay here."

She closed the door in his face.

He was still standing in the exact same position when she opened it again, his head tilted in the same way, like he was carved from stone. She dried her hands on an old towel and stepped out, watching his eyes follow her every movement.

"Clearly, you and I need to talk," she said, and after a brief hesitation he nodded.

"We should…" he started, reaching for her forehead, but she jerked back and batted his hand away.

"No. Let's just…take a walk." She glanced outside to the overcast sky. The tops of the trees were swaying gently in the cool, early spring wind. "I'll get my coat."

Castiel said nothing, just followed her to the bedroom, watched her shrug on her leather jacket, then followed her out to the salvage yard.

Eli sat down on the hood of a mostly-intact car and tucked her knees under her chin, still cold despite the jacket. Castiel sat down next to her, resting his elbows on his thighs and staring straight ahead pensively, the wind ruffling his dark hair.

"What's up, Cas?" she asked in a quiet voice. "What's going on?"

He swung his gaze to her. "You," he rasped. "Are going to do something stupid. Soon. I refuse to let this happen."

"I'm not…" she started, but he shook his head.

"No. I won't hear denials. I know you, Eli, better than you think. And you're planning something."

Eli met his gaze evenly, trying to sound nonchalant. "And how did you deduce this?"

He sighed and looked down at his hands, clearly trying to put his thoughts in to words. Eli noticed how hunched his shoulders were, how his spine curved and his head dropped, a literal weight of the world on his shoulders. All she could think was: _You're right._

That, and: _This will all be over soon._

"There were so many…small signs," he said, his voice scratchy and rough, like it was a chore to even speak. "I told you that I would never let that other reality come to pass, even if it meant the end of the world, and you didn't protest." He looked back up at her, his blue eyes tortured. "That's not you, Eli. You don't just hand over control to someone else. You and the Winchesters—you martyr yourselves at every opportunity. I've seen it enough to know."

"Maybe I've changed," she said softly. He shook his head.

"When we fought, I said horrible things to you. I left you just when you needed me most. You…" He smiled slightly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You would never just let someone walk over you like that and then accept them back with open arms. I was expecting a fight; I was expecting you to feel understandably betrayed and angry. The only time you would forgive an injustice without so much as a bitter word is if you knew that you didn't have much time left."

"Cas…" she started, but he continued.

"But what really made me believe that you were planning something was when you asked me to come on vacation with you."

She raised her eyebrows. "So, vacation equals death?"

" _When this is all over_ , you said. But I could feel your pain, Eli. Those were not the words of someone planning for the future. Those were the words of someone dreaming of something that could never be." He touched her shoulder gently, and Eli didn't know whether to lean in to it or jerk away. "You don't believe that there will be an _after this_ , do you?" he asked.

"I think you're reading too much into things," Eli said darkly. "Can't you just be happy for a moment?"

"No," he growled, and Eli hated how much she loved it when he did that: pitched his voice even lower than usual, the sound almost coming from his chest. "What are you planning, Eli?"

"Nothing," she insisted, turning to him with exasperation. He merely stared at her.

"Fine," he said shortly. "Then it won't bother you if I keep you in sight from now on. Just to be sure."

"That's kind of an invasion of privacy, don't you think?" she pointed out. "Very unattractive."

He merely glared at her. "I am not stupid, Eli."

"You're sure acting like it," she snapped, sliding off of the hood of the car and starting to walk briskly back to the house. True to his word, he followed her, his trench coat flapping in the breeze. "And I'm not planning anything!"

"Yes, you are."

Eli resisted the urge to shout out _'am not!'_ , because she knew that if it became a childish back-and-forth he would definitely win. So she just let him follow her around the house, and tried to plan how to get him away so she could fly to England and change history and stupidly martyr herself to save the world.

Damn angel always was too perceptive for his own good.

* * *

First, though, Eli needed to talk to Sam. Privately.

It was Dean who finally, inadvertently, gave her the chance. He was hunting a particularly vengeful ghoul in the next town over, to blow off some steam, and called to yell over the phone that he needed a bit of help. In the background was the sound of smashing objects and howls.

"Hurry!" Dean yelled in a voice loud enough that the whole room heard him.

Sam, who had stayed behind and was in full research-mode, groaned. "I told him that the rock-salt would only piss it off more."

Castiel snapped the phone shut, looking torn. He glanced at Eli and she rolled her eyes.

"Sam's right here," she pointed out, patting the seated goliath on the head. "I'm not going anywhere. Go save Dean."

He nodded once, then vanished.

Eli let out a low sigh. "Sam. How do you feel about going for a ride?"

He looked up at her in surprise, but saw the look in her eyes and merely nodded, closing his book. They passed Lucy napping on the couch and Bobby immersed in yet another thick tome of lore. Eli grabbed the keys to one of the functioning junkyard cars and the two hunters quietly let themselves out of the house.

"What is going on between you two, anyway?" Sam asked once they were in the car. Eli put it into gear and pulled out of the driveway as fast as the wheels would carry her. It was hard, to block their connection and keep Castiel from finding her, but she could do it for the half an hour she needed. "He's been trailing you like a lost puppy all day."

"He thinks I'm going to do something stupid," Eli said, turning onto the highway and gunning the engine. "He's right."

They drove for about ten minutes, finally pulling into a scraggly copse of trees by the side of the road. She knew that Castiel would find them, eventually—they hadn't gone _that_ far and he was like a bloodhound that could fly impressively fast—but this would give them enough time for a heart-to-heart.

"You want a beer?" she asked, leaning back to grab two from the backseat. She handed one to him, and they both sat for a moment, drinking pensively and staring out of the windshield into the dim forest, watching the first raindrops splatter on the hood.

"What's going on, Eli?" Sam asked, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "You did an awful lot to get me out here. So what's up?"

She took a long drink from her bottle. "I thought you should know…we're out of options. The Archangels…they've checkmated us. By finding out about the planned attack, and moving the battle to earth, they've trapped me. Hell expects me to lead the army, Crowley's fault. If I don't, they'll turn on me, and people will die. I do, and I'll be putting myself on the front lines when the other side has the collar. Then the apocalypse will really happen, and _everyone_ will die. Everything is fucked, Sam, everything is royally, royally fucked. And it's my fault."

"Eli…"

" _Don't_ , Sam. Please, don't. It's my fault. I'm not being melodramatic. I'm the one they want. I'm the one that encouraged hell to attack. I'm the one who can let Michael and Lucifer out of the pit. So just…don't."

"Okay," he said, and she loved him for that. Easy acceptance.

"You would have been a really cool brother," she said, saluting him with her beer. "Dean is lucky."

"Why are you telling me all of this?" he asked. "Just wanted me to know how fucked we are? Or do you have a plan?"

"I'm telling you this because…" She let out a long, low breath. In the back of her mind she could feel Castiel searching for her, and he was _pissed._ "We have one shot left, Sam. Just one shot. But you're the one who's going to suffer the most for it."

He wrinkled his brow, confused, the beer forgotten in his hands. "What do you mean?"

She looked him in the eye. "If I do this, if I stop all of this and save the world, then everyone will live. But you'll be trapped in the pit for all eternity. That's the price, I'm sorry, it isn't fair, I know it. And I will find another way if I can, if you want me to. I won't damn your soul to hell without your permission. But you have to know, Sam…I don't think there is another way. I really don't."

He was silent for a long time, his face a mask of shock. Then: "It'll save everyone?"

Eli nodded. "Yeah, Sam, it will."

He was frightened, visibly frightened, his shoulders curled inward like a turtle retreating into its shell. "Fine then. Do it. Do whatever you have to do."

Eli's voice was very small. "Just like that? You trust me that much?"

His hands clenched on his knees. "I trust you enough to do what's right. And I know you wouldn't be asking if there were other options. So yeah, I trust you, Eli. Just tell me Dean and Cas and you will be fine, and I'll do it."

Eli nodded, turning the key in the ignition and putting the car back into gear. "Okay, then. I guess the decision's made."

The rain was falling hard now, spattering against the glass, the windshield wipers working furiously, the outside world little more than a blur of grey and brown. "What do you need me to do?" Sam asked in a hollow voice.

Eli wrapped her fingers tighter around the steering wheel, hating this plan more with every minute that ticked by. "You have to get rid of Cas for me. He won't leave me alone."

"Why not just go right now?"

"I have a feeling he knows where I'd go. I can't have him following me. Besides—" and here her voice trembled, for the first time, and Sam reached over and gently touched her shoulder. "I'm not going to leave everyone without saying goodbye."

"So what, then," Sam asked as the rain pounded down on the car roof. "Banishing sigil?"

She shook her head. "It won't send him away for long enough. I need you to trap him, Sam. Trap him, and don't let him out until it's all over."

They drove back to the house in silence.

 


	20. In Which God Is In The Kitchen, Eating Pie

 

 

Sam was a pretty good liar. He convinced Bobby that he had received a distress call from a hunter three towns over. Bobby immediately started loading up his car, and when Dean saw the action that was about to go down, he insisted on going. Sam even argued a little bit, for good measure, but in the end Dean put his foot down. It almost creeped Eli out, how good Sam was at manipulating people.

Plus, it gave her a legitimate excuse to say goodbye to some of the most important people in her life.

"Just…take care of yourself, okay?" she said to Bobby, wrapping him in a hug and breathing in his familiar scent of gunpowder and axle grease—a strangely comforting smell. She couldn't keep tears from welling in her eyes.

"What's with the water-works?" Bobby asked when she finally pulled away; he looked awkward and discomfited. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands and shrugged weakly.

"It's just…you've always been there for me. You're like a father to me—more than my own father is now. You've saved me more times than I could count. You gave me a place in the world. And you didn't have to do any of that…but you did. And I guess I just realized that I never…I never thanked you properly. So thank you. I…" She took a deep breath and tried to smile bravely. "I love you Bobby, I really do."

"Aw hell," Bobby muttered, pulling his ball cap lower over his eyes and flushing a little. "I uh…love you too, kid." He paused, then cleared his throat. "Right, I'm gonna go…load the truck." He turned and stumped away.

"Jeez, Eli, it's just one hunt," Dean said, coming up behind her. He was surprised when she turned and threw her arms around him, burying her face in the worn leather of his jacket.

"Yeah, but it's the end of the world. A hunt is never just a hunt. So I decided, just in case I don't get another chance, to tell you guys." She pulled back and surprised Dean by lifting herself up and planting a kiss on his lips, despite the fact that Castiel was lurking by the house, watching the whole exchange through narrowed eyes.

"Woah, Blondie, what…" he sputtered, looking so genuinely shocked that she laughed.

"Love you, Dean," she said with clear affection in her voice. "Even with your loud music and your pervy ways and the creepily erotic interest you show in your car. I love you. And…that's all I came to say."

She turned on her heel and darted around the side of the house, leaving a confused Dean rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Girl gets weirder every day, I swear," he muttered, but smiled despite himself, then moved to help Bobby pack up the car.

In the salvage yard, Eli sank down onto an old tire and took a long, tired breath. It was done. Now there was nowhere to go but forward.

* * *

At that exact moment, another conversation was taking place.

"I finally figured it out," Gabriel said, closing the kitchen door behind him. Lucy glanced up from her spot at the table, sleep still hanging heavy in her eyes, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Figured what out?"

Gabriel smirked, but there was something bitter and wounded in it. "What you are."

She blew a strand of dark hair away from her face. "What are you talking about, Gabriel?"

"You know, I always knew something was off with you," he said blithely, sitting down across from her. "Angels can't create people. Only God can do that. And I'm sure as hell not God. So how, _how_ did I create you? That was the problem I couldn't solve."

Lucy was watching him with a strangely scrutinizing look on her face. She had gone very still. "And? How did you create me?"

He laughed and drummed his fingers on the table. "I didn't. That's what's so beautifully simple about this whole charade. Oh, I give you credit: you had me fooled. But not forever. All I had to do was remember…" He tapped his temple and winked at her. "Only one who can create people is God. Nice one, Dad. Very subtle."

"You're not making any sense," she said flatly. He sighed, a long exhalation of breath.

"Please, stop with the innocent face. Lucy was never real, and we both know it. Your cover is blown. What, you wanted an easy way to watch us all flail around, trying to stop Apocalypse Two: Electric Boogaloo? Come _on_ , Dad, really. You could have stopped all of this with a wave of your pretty hand. So why didn't you?"

"You're wrong," Lucy said. She sat up straight, her whole posture different, light shining around her dark hair like a halo, her voice somehow smoother and richer and more _real_ than ever before. The blue of her eyes was almost blinding. "Lucy was real, Gabriel. In her own way. Everything she felt, all of the fear and confusion and love and joy—that was real. Even her hatred of you. And boy, did she hate your guts."

"A dominant personality," Gabriel scoffed. "With you peering out from behind a creation's eyes. So you created that girl and then scared her shitless and ripped up her life for no reason. Good one."

"I merely finished what you started," she said mildly. "And there was a reason."

"What reason?" Gabriel snarled. "You know what is going down, better than anyone. And you've done nothing!"

"It is not my responsibly to clean up the messes of others," Lucy said primly. Gabriel had to clench his hands to keep from doing something rash.

"Yes it damn well is!" he shouted. She merely raised her eyebrows at him.

"And to think, you were once a dutiful son. It is nice to see you standing up for something, Gabriel. It's been a long time coming."

"And yet you didn't see fit to resurrect me," he said in a sulky voice. She smiled.

"Who's to say I didn't? Who's to say where the idea came from, in the span of an instant, for a girl to resurrect someone she barely knew?"

Gabriel was speechless.

Lucy sighed, then took a bite of the pie that hadn't been there a moment before. "Do you want some?" she asked blandly. He merely gaped at her. "Okay. It's good, though."

Finally he shut his mouth. "Look, I don't…I know I don't have a right to ask anything of you," he said sheepishly. "But help us. Please."

Lucy cocked her head for a moment, as if thinking, and then shook it. "No."

"Why not?" Gabriel asked, his voice rising again. Lucy stayed perfectly calm, eating her pie with neat, precise bites.

"This is not my battle to fight."

"Then whose is it?"

She gave him a secret half-smile. "You know."

Gabriel groaned. "So what, this is another test. Haven't we done this already? Using the apocalypse to test people is a bit of overcompensation, don't'cha think?"

"Lucifer rising was _their_ test," she said. "This problem is for Castiel and Elijah to solve. And they can do it. Have faith."

"In _what_?" he snarled. She met his gaze.

"In them."

There was a pause. Gabriel drummed his fingers on the table, agitated. "You do know that she's about to run off and do something stupid, don't you?" he asked roughly. Lucy nodded.

"Of course. I've known it for a long time."

"Well?" he asked. She raised an eyebrow at him, popping a piece of flaky crust into her mouth.

"Well, what?"

"Is it the right thing to do? Are they going to pass the test?"

"Silly," she chided him. "Nobody _passes_ or _fails_. This isn't ninth grade English. This is about purity of spirit. Free will. Love conquering all. Right and wrong. Sacrifices." She dabbed her immaculate mouth with a napkin. "Elijah is willing to sacrifice everything, change the very thread and fabric of reality, to ensure the safety of those she loves, even if it means giving up everything she has. That sounds like all the right ingredients to me. Then again, she is running off and is not trusting or faithful enough to believe that there is a way out of this without her self-sacrifice. Perhaps she's right. Perhaps she's not."

"Just _give me an answer_ ," he yelled, slamming his hand down on the table. "How is it going to end? How is it _supposed_ to end?"

"Gabriel, please," Lucy said, placing one delicate hand over his. "My child, you are older than the hills and valleys of this beautiful planet. You should know by now that nothing ever ends."

Suddenly, inexplicably, Gabriel felt like he was going to cry. He wanted nothing more than to have her wrap her arms around him and stroke his hair, like a lost child finally finding his mother. Instead he merely let her hold his hand across the table, stroking it with soft, light fingers, her eyes infinitely knowing and sad.

"Am I going to die?" he asked quietly. He knew, like she had told him herself, how everything was going to happen. "When everything changes. She won't have been around to bring me back. Will I be dead?"

"Don't think of it as death," Lucy said, with a small, unfathomable smile. "Think of it as transitioning. To bigger and better things."

Gabriel felt some of the fear in his chest slip away at the sound of her voice. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him, then let go of his hand and continued eating her pie like nothing had happened. "Dude, I work in mysterious ways."

He let out a long, low breath. "Look, I know I don't have the right to ask you for…anything. I know that. I've been a bad son, done some…bad things. Selfish things. But…"

"Of course you may ask," Lucy said simply. Gabriel felt his heart stutter.

"Will you…aw, hell. Will you let them be happy? She's—they've—been through so much. Too much. They're…really made for each other, and they deserve…" He ran his hand through his hair, barely able to believe what he was saying. "It doesn't matter, if I'm dead or not. Just let her be happy. That's all I'm asking."

Lucy smiled at him, a pure smile that was like the sun breaking from behind the clouds. "Why Gabriel, that was positively selfless. I'm proud of you."

Again Gabriel felt that tremor inside, that desire to burst into tears, like crying would purge all of the old gunk and hatred and anger out of his system. "So that means…"

"Nothing is set in stone, especially not alternate realities," Lucy said with a sigh. "I'm personally rooting for Castiel and Elijah. But who knows how their new story will play out. I certainly don't. It's nice, every once in a while, not knowing. It makes everything less _boring_. But if they find each other again – which is likely, soul mates often do—then I promise you that their journey is done. The loophole will be closed—should Eli somehow find herself a grace, no one will ever be able to rip it from her again. The fires of Heaven are officially shut down—no more collar. That was a bad idea, anyway. About time I got rid of it."

"And what about Remiel and Sariel?" Gabriel asked cautiously. "If you think that will stop them…"

Lucy's face darkened. "They are lucky, those two, that I have grown benevolent in my old age," she mused. "Once upon a time they would have been smited quite thoroughly. But no. I think a more…subtle punishment is in store for them in this new reality that Elijah is so intent on creating." The darkness passed from her face as quickly as it appeared. "They will harm no one anymore. Who knows; they might even be happy."

Gabriel didn't press the subject. "So…what's going to happen now?"

"So many questions, Gabriel," Lucy said gently. "Whatever is going to happen is going to happen. It's too late to stop it now. So don't interfere. This is their battle, their test. You've played your role, better than I would have given you credit for. Your job is done, Gabriel. Rest now."

She moved as if to vanish. Gabriel flew to her side of the table, kneeling before her with adoration. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself; he was suddenly the awkward middle child again with a parent who left him, left him alone and unsure of his place in the world and so thoroughly _abandoned_. "Why did you leave?" he stuttered, and for the first time in a millennia, he found himself actually blinking back tears. "Why did you leave us? Why did you let all of this happen, the rebellions, the wars, the death? We needed you. _I_ needed you. Did we mean _nothing_ to you?"

True pain flickered in Lucy's eyes. "Mean nothing? Oh, my son, my beautiful child, you mean _everything_ to me." She cupped his cheek in her hand and he closed his eyes, leaning into it. "I was always there with you, all of you, in spirit. You were never abandoned. I merely wanted to give you all a chance to decide your own destinies, find your own place in universe. To be good and holy by choice, and not merely because of orders. And I was going to come back— _am_ going to come back. Because I love you so very much."

"Decide our own destinies?" Gabriel croaked, opening his eyes. "But…angels don't have free will."

"Silly boy," she chided. "Everyone has free well. You and Castiel are perfect proof of that. It's not my fault if the others haven't…caught up yet." She smiled at him tenderly. "I have always loved you, Gabriel. Never doubt this. In the universe, you are special, and you are loved."

Gabriel bent his head and cried, shoulders shaking, face scrunched up like a child. Lucy wrapped her arms around him and pulled him to her chest; her heart was a drumbeat, steady and smooth, like a mother, like home.

* * *

Once Bobby and Dean were safely on the road, Eli headed into the house. She squared her shoulders. Now or never.

Lucy and Gabriel were gone; she considered looking for them, but decided against it. Her heart couldn't take any more goodbyes.

Castiel followed her into the sitting room, watching as she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, her hands shaking ever so slightly, a tremor that she couldn't control. He went to her, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand. "What is the matter?"

She cracked an eye open. "Would you believe me if I said nothing?"

He moved his hand from her cheek to her hair, letting it run gently through the unruly mess of yellow, now well past her shoulders. He realized dimly that she had stopped putting it in unusual styles lately, preferring to just wear it down or pull it back from her face. There seemed a strange loss of innocence is this gesture, like she was growing up. He didn't like it. "No," he answered honestly. She nodded.

"That's my Cas."

He opened his mouth to say something else but she stopped him by kissing him, in full view of Sam, twining her arms around his neck and pulling their bodies together. He kissed her back, closing his eyes; she undid him, as she always did, especially when she tugged on his lower lip with her teeth and combed her fingers through his hair. He almost moaned, but was saved by Eli pulling back and whispering in his ear, very quietly: "I love you."

He looked at her with quizzical eyes, about to answer. Sam broke the moment.

"Hey Cas, check this out." He was standing at the desk, peering at a book. "I think I've found something."

Castiel reluctantly pulled himself away from Eli and turned, walking toward the younger Winchester. "What is it?"

Sam waited until the angel was nearly there. Then he flipped the lighter in his hand and tossed it onto the floor with a pained look on his face. "This."

The circle ignited, and Castiel was trapped.

* * *

Eli didn't wait for him to turn around and fix her with a look of pain and confusion and betrayal. She just turned on her heel and flew straight to England, appearing inside of the little bookshop.

Crowley and Aziraphale didn't even have the grace to look surprised when she marched into the kitchen. She didn't waste any time with small-talk either, just looked them in the eye and nodded, shaking down to her very bones.

"Okay. I'm ready."

* * *

Several miles down the road, Bobby let out a curse and slammed on the breaks.

"Jesus, Bobby, what is it?" Dean yelled, nearly crashing into the dashboard.

"No one says something like that for no reason, 'specially not Eli," Bobby growled, turning the car around with a screech and gunning the engine. "She's planning something, and she don't want us around for it. I don't know what it is, but it's gotta be something big. And that means it's something we gotta stop."

 


	21. In Which Shit Gets Real

 

 

Castiel stood very still within the ring of fire and watched his captor with narrowed eyes. "Sam, what do you think you are doing?"

Sam sat down in a hard-backed chair and folded his hands in front of him. "I'm sorry, man, I really am."

"Let me out, Sam," Castiel said in an even tone. Sam shook his head.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Sam looked away, threading his fingers together restlessly, his long legs splayed colt-like in front of him. "This…this is going to happen, Cas, and I'm sorry but you've been…blinded by emotion. We have to save the world and we can't do that if you're…interfering."

"What is she going to do?" he rasped nervously, fear rising up and clogging his throat. "Sam, I demand that you let me out right now."

Sam shook his head. "I can't tell you. I'm sorry."

"You keep saying that," Castiel ground out. "Though I doubt you mean it."

"You think I _wanted_ things to end like this?" Sam burst out, finally looking at him. "This is the worst option in the world! But we've reached the end. There is no other choice."

" _What is she going to do?"_

"Something stupid," Sam said in a quiet, sad voice. "But it's the only option we have left."

* * *

"You're sure about this?" Aziraphale asked, standing and walking to Eli. He reached out and she curled into his chest, sobbing quietly onto his pristine shirt. He smelled like old books and sunshine and the faint whiff of Crowley's cologne. "Oh, dear, oh, darling, it's all right. It will be all right." He stroked her hair and waited for her to calm. "Everything will be all right. You're doing the right thing, you know. You're going to save them all."

She took a deep, shaking breath and pulled away, her eyes puffy and red, but determined. "I…know," she said, her voice cracking. "I know. I was ….never supposed to be a part of this story. And my being here has thrown everything off course. I need to fix it."

"Finally, she sees," Crowley said in a long-suffering voice. Aziraphale shot him a look and he held up his hands. "What? Took her long enough."

Aziraphale huffed and turned back to her. "Sometimes I wonder why I even bother," he muttered. Crowley grinned lazily.

"Because I'm adorable?"

Suddenly the walls began to shake. Light flooded the room, seeping in from every crack and corner. The wood beams that crisscrossed the ceiling split, sending down a shower of splinters like dirty snow.

"It's Remiel!" Aziraphale yelled, spinning around and fixing Crowley with a wild look. "He's found us! You two go, now! I'll hold him off!"

"I'll expect to see you in one piece when I get back, angel!" Crowley shouted, bounding across the room to Eli. Aziraphale grinned, the crazed look in his eyes almost lost by the radiant white spilling around them like water.

"If this works, it won't matter if I die or not. Now go, my dears!"

Crowley grasped her hand, pulling her with him. It felt different, traveling with a demon, cold and slick, like she moved between the atoms of the world, compressed, and came out the other side.

Alone in his kitchen, Aziraphale faced the Archangel.

* * *

Bobby and Dean burst into the sitting room, startling Sam and Castiel from their tense conversation.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing, boy?" Bobby gasped out, staring at the scene in front of him, at the holy fire blazing and hot in the middle of his sitting room. "Have you completely lost your mind?"

"Don't!" Sam snapped as Dean moved to the kitchen, presumably for water. "Don't put it out."

"Get me out of here, Dean," Castiel growled. He was prowling along the edges of the circle, his trench coat inches away from catching alight, trying to find some chink in the armor. "Now."

"You two, just…listen to me," Sam pleaded, hands out. "There's a reason…"

"Oh, there's a _reason_ you locked the angel in holy fire," Bobby said sarcastically. "Well thank God."

"What's going on, Sam?" Dean asked, approaching his little brother. "Where is Eli?"

"She found a way, Dean," Sam said earnestly, putting his hand on Dean's shoulder. "To fix everything. To stop the apocalypse. But it's dangerous and Cas…he can't interfere. This is for the best…"

"You know, everything is always _for the best_ with you," Dean snapped, stepping away. "Drinking demon blood, killing Lilith, saying yes to Lucifer. Forgive me if I can't automatically trust your _for the best_ line. What is she going to do?"

Sam's shoulders fell. He knew that Dean would immediately nix the plan if he knew that it would lead to Sam being trapped in hell. "I can't tell you."

"Can't, or won't?" Dean asked, narrowing his eyes. Sam let out a huff of frustrated anger.

"Can't."

"Either you tell me what the _fuck_ is going on or I let Cas out of that fire," Dean hissed. Sam shook his head, balling his hands into fists.

"I'll stop you if I have to, Dean. This is going to happen. She's going to save the world."

"At what cost?" Castiel rasped, pacing restlessly. "It has to be high, Dean, perhaps so high that all of us will be subject to it." Sam's gaze dropped. Castiel plowed on. "It makes sense, doesn't it? Explains why Sam is not willing to tell us what this brilliant plan is. It's going to have a nasty effect on everyone in this room. And for all of this, do we even know her plan will work?"

Sam's head jerked back up. "It will work!" he insisted. "It has to."

"I dunno, man, I gotta agree with Cas on this one," Dean said. "Eli has a track record of running off on her own to fix things and fucking them up worse than they were before. And end of the world or not, I am not willing to risk anyone in this room again. I've done that. Once is enough."

"Dean, _no_ ," Sam said pleadingly. "Bobby, come on, talk some sense into him! If it's a way to save the world we have to take it! Right?" Bobby didn't say anything. _"Right?"_

Bobby looked torn. "It would be better if you just told us all what this miracle plan is," he finally said. Sam looked like he was close to losing it.

"I can't!" he yelled. "I wish I could but if you _knew…_ "

"You wouldn't agree to it," Castiel said in a low, rough voice. "None of us would. I'm not the only one thinking with my heart here, Sam, but you seem to be the only one willing to sacrifice everything for a slim chance at peace."

This stunned Sam enough that when Dean swung off his jacket, snarled "Fuck this!", and threw it over the flames, Sam was just one step too slow to stop him. The jacket muffled the fire; Castiel placed one foot on it, crossed the line, and was gone.

* * *

Eli and Crowley appeared in the middle of a tree-fort, about thirty feet off the ground. It was a perfect tree-fort, the kind of hide-out all kids wanted, knotted wood nailed together, a rope ladder leading to the ground, the rickety floor strewn with snacks and comic books.

"Oh good, you came!" said a bubbly voice. Eli turned; sitting on the ground, an open book in his lap, was a 12-year-old boy with a wild head of golden curls and blue eyes in a cherubic face. He literally _shined_. "Hiya!"

"Um, hello," Eli said, glancing at Crowley, who was holding it together, the only indication of his nerves the paleness of his face and a slight tightening of his lips. "Adam, isn't it?"

"Yep," Adam confirmed, patting the ground next to him. "Sit down!" His gaze slid to Crowley. "I remember _you_. You're in someone new, though." He frowned a little. "I liked the old one better."

Crowley coughed into his hand. "Yes, well…things change."

Adam shifted his attention back to Eli. "Sit," he commanded, and she did, folding her legs under her on the rickety wooden floor. Adam sighed deeply. "I didn' wanna get involved, but everything is all messed up and I just…I just had'ta, didn't I?" he asked, staring at her. "I mean, I can't just _sit back_ when there's more killin' an' wars an' angels and stuff, can I?"

Eli shook her head, a bit overwhelmed by his presence. He beamed at her.

"I _like_ you. You're a nice person, I can tell."

Eli cleared her throat. "Ah…thanks."

Adam nodded fiercely. "An' it will be _better_ , you'll see. You'll get to do all that fun stuff you missed out on, ridin' bikes and playin' games and eatin' your mom's apple pie…I mean, doncha miss your mom? I would miss _my_ mom. I'd much rather be playin' with my friends than huntin' monsters."

"We differ a bit in that respect," she said, smiling slightly. "But…I do. Miss my mom, I mean."

"An' she misses you. _A lot_ ," he said. "So ya see, you'll get t' save the world _and_ have all those good things. I mean, that's _good_ , right?" He sounded almost pleading. Eli blinked back tears.

"Doesn't mean much," she said. "Without love."

Adam wrinkled his nose. "I _guess_ ," he said loftily. "And you love him lots, doncha?"

She nodded. "Lots and lots."

"Well…" He clapped his hands together. "I know! I'm gonna do something for you. Something _great_."

Eli raised her eyebrows, waiting.

* * *

Castiel knew, as he flew to England, that there would be no use going to Aziraphale's shop. It was too late for that.

Luckily, unknown to the rest, he had taken it upon himself to read the prophetic novel by Neil Gaiman and Terry Prachett, and so knew exactly where to go instead. A small hamlet by the name of Tadfield.

He was just entering the town limits when he crashed into the barrier.

Considering that he was moving at about the speed of light, the crash was fierce, sending him flying nearly a mile back to land face-first in the dirt. He stood, rather shakily, wiped the dirt from his palms, and tried again, this time slow enough to be visible to the naked eye.

The barrier was an invisible bubble stretching around the town. Castiel put his hands on it, feeling its warmth and strength. It must have been Adam's doing. Inside of the bubble the town sat sleepy and calm, the syrupy gold light of early evening spilling over the idyllic cottages and white-picket fences.

"A rather benign use of his power, really," a voice drawled from behind him. "But I guess we're all lucky for that. Think about what he could have done if he _tried._ "

Castiel spun around, a sword immediately in his hand. Remiel cocked an eyebrow at him mockingly.

"Really, Castiel? About to take on an Archangel? You don't have the juice anymore." His vessel was nearly identical to his visage in Heaven, all bone and long face, amber hair shining in the sun. His colorless eyes flickered with something close to amusement. "You don't want to end up like Aziraphale, do you?"

Castiel's face went a shade whiter. Remiel nodded smugly. "Oh yes." He opened his hand and let a crumpled pair of glasses fall to the ground. "It was like lighting fire to a paper doll."

"Don't be vile, Remiel," said another, sweetly feminine voice. "It's unbecoming."

Castiel felt a sick dread spread in his gut as he turned to look at the newcomer. "Sariel," he croaked. She nodded at him politely. Her vessel was in a well-tailored business suit, her shining dark hair pulled into a low bun, her almond-shaped eyes oddly tender.

"Hello, Castiel. I am sorry to have to see you again under these circumstances, but it can't be helped."

"It can always be helped," Castiel growled. "Or have you forgotten that all of this is your doing?"

Sariel tilted her head. "Despite Remiel's…enthusiasm, the truth still stands," she said delicately. "We still want peace. And I apologize."

Castiel raised his eyebrows, a gesture he had picked up from Eli. "You apologize?"

She nodded, her face very serene. "Yes. We should not have accosted you without hearing your say in the matter. You did not get a choice, and therefore there was no way that you could have chosen to do the right thing. I see that now, and for that I apologize."

"What she means," Remiel said, rolling his eyes. "Is that we were about to drag you off to jail without giving you the chance to do the right thing. The abomination had to go, she's just a piece to the puzzle, our own little dog, but you're our brother, Castiel. Join us now. Help up end this mistake of a world and bring about paradise."

Castiel bared his teeth. "Never," he swore throatily. "I protect this world with my life."

Remiel sighed. "Pity."

Castiel narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "You're wasting time, talking to me," he said slowly. "Why haven't you entered yet? Unless you can't." He smirked. "The barrier is too strong even for a pair of Archangels."

"Well, yes," Remiel admitted without concern. "But three…"

"I won't help you," Castiel rasped, his voice low and harsh like gravel. Remiel shrugged.

"Like I said: Pity. With your help, we could break the barrier and enter together. Without it…well, you'll still help. But I'm afraid this sigil will need copious amounts of angelic blood. And your grace, of course." He smiled at Castiel, his teeth very white and even. "I hear that the power flare of a grace is strongest at the moment an angel dies. I've always wanted to see if that theory is true."

Castiel backed up, sword in hand, but there was nowhere to go.

The Archangels advanced.

* * *

"You're going to do something for me?" Eli asked warily. "What?"

Adam's gaze flickered upward, as if hearing something the rest of them couldn't hear. Eli felt a sudden flare of panic that wasn't hers, and she realized that Castiel was close, and in trouble.

"Oh _no_ ," Adam said. "No no. They wanna come in. But they _can't_ come in. This is my town." He turned to Eli. "I'm sorry; I was gonna give you snacks an' everything. But it's too late. I gotta send you back." He reached out to her. "Jus'…give your mom a hug for me, woncha?"

"Wait!" Eli cried, jerking back. "What are you going to do for me?"

Adam looked momentarily puzzled. Then his face broke into a dazzling grin. "Oh, _that_. I'm gonna give an angel a cold."

Eli and Crowley stared at the Anti-Christ with puzzled frowns, but he just giggled and put a hand on her shoulder.

The world wavered.

* * *

Castiel's fight with the Archangels halted abruptly. The air flickered, and felt _wrong_ , like someone was unwinding the threads of reality.

"No!" Remiel yelled, throwing down his sword. _"No!"_

Sariel just buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. "Forgive me, Father," she whispered.

Reality started to come apart.

There was a moment when the world hovered between creation and darkness. In that moment, something very strange happened.

Castiel sneezed.

* * *

The world came undone.

* * *

Eli blinked.

She was standing in her parent's backyard in the springtime, the scent of apple blossoms washing over her. In the distance the sun was setting, spreading a syrupy golden glow over the landscape. From this angle she could see inside the house; her parents were cooking together in the kitchen, ingredients spread out over the countertops, the family dog nipping at their heels.

She realized with a sudden pang that Adam had done it. Sent her back in time. She was nineteen years old again. This was the dream, the dream where she first met Castiel. The dream that started it all.

She waited. And then…

"You can have all of this again," a warm voice thrummed. It wasn't exactly a voice, more like words made out of light. She looked up. A piece of radiance from the setting sun broke away and hovered in the sky, glinting like a star. "I am an angel of the Lord, Elijah. I have been watching over you."

Quite abruptly, Eli burst into tears. She bent over, hands clutching her stomach, the sobs coming so fast and strong that she could barely breathe.

The being made of light hesitated. "Uh…Elijah. Don't…don't cry. This is a good thing."

She sobbed harder, falling to her knees and digging her fingers into the grass, her whole body shaking like a leaf. "It's not fair," she whimpered through gasping breaths. "Oh God, it's not fair."

The angel misunderstood her, mistaking her sobs for fear, fear at what had happened to her, at her ability to see demons, at the knowledge of all of the terrible creatures that roamed the earth. "Nothing in life is fair," he said gently. "But I can help you. I can wash away the memory of what happened that night, like I have done for your parents. I can close the doors in your mind that were opened. Never again will you have to fear. Never again will you be forced to see the faces of demons or feel their touch. You will be able to live out your life peacefully and happily, as it should have been."

Eli slowed her tears and stood, tottering on shaking feet. She faced the ray of light in the sky, feeling it warm her skin. "You're beautiful," she said in a hoarse voice. "More beautiful than anything I've ever seen. I never… I never really got to see your true form again. Not really. Even in Heaven…" She trailed off, choking back another sob. "You're so beautiful, my Castiel."

There was a sound like the rustling of wings. "What are you speaking of?" he asked, truly puzzled. "How do you know my name?"

She shook her head, rubbing tears from her eyes. "It doesn't matter. But before I do this, before I say yes, I want to say, while I still have the chance…" She drew a deep, shaking breath. "You have no idea who I am. You don't know me, and now, you'll never know me. But I will _always_ love you." She stared into his near-blinding light, reveling in his presence for one last time. "Even when I don't remember you, even when you make it so that I have never known you, I will love you. Until the last star fades from the sky, I will love you. Always. Forever. Know that, Castiel. Know that you are loved." She started to cry again, tears running down her face, the taste of salt in her mouth. "Okay, I'm ready. Do it."

He drew nearer to her, and everything faded to white.

 


	22. Epilogue: In Which We Are Introduced To Eli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Present day..._

Elijah Grant woke up to the sound of her alarm ringing shrilly.

"God damnit," she groaned, swinging her arm over and blindly hitting the desk, searching for the button. "Shut up!"

Finally her hand connected to the machine and the beeping stopped. Eli groaned, burying her face in her pillow, her yellow hair splayed like a halo around her. She had been having the best dream; it was hazy now, and fading fast, but she remembered it had fights and action and sexy men. All of the things her life was currently lacking.

Five minutes had passed. The alarm blared again and she sat up, pushing hair out of her eyes and rubbing them tiredly. When she stood her whole body ached like she had been in a fight, and she stumbled into the bathroom, stretching and yawning.

The face that stared back at her from the mirror was puffy from sleep, the freckles washed out from a long winter with no sun, green eyes exhausted, lips chapped and hair a knotted mane of blonde that stretched down to her shoulder blades. She brushed her teeth blearily, eyeing her body critically in the glass. She needed to get to the gym more often, her stomach was getting soft, her curves a little out-of-control.

From the kitchen, her coffee beeped. She rinsed her mouth and ran into the bedroom, shrugging on a pair of jeans and a cute top. She brushed her hair while drinking her first cup, wincing at the beginning as the coffee clashed with the toothpaste taste still in her mouth. Makeup was applied with the second cup, cover-up for the circles under her eyes from too little sleep, blush to make her pale skin less wan. Boots and a warm, brightly-patterned scarf were put on while gulping a third cup, and then she grabbed her bag and was out the door.

_My life as a graduate student,_ she thought, rolling her eyes as she got on her bicycle in the freezing weather and began to pedal. _Can't believe I actually missed this. I traveled the world and I actually missed books and papers and too little sleep. What a nerd._

She pulled to a stop in front of a Starbucks and locked her bike hurriedly, running inside with freezing fingers and a dripping nose. She paused for a moment at the sight of the empty faux-leather couch by the large electric fireplace, staring at it with the oddest sense of dejavu, like she expected someone to be sitting on it, beckoning her over. Eli shook herself out of her strange thoughts and made her way to the back of the line, wondering why she should think that. She always studied alone.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. "Eli? Is that you?"

She turned around, her face breaking into a huge smile at the sight of the dark-haired woman standing behind her. "Oh my God, Sara? How _are_ you? It's been forever!"

The two women squealed and hugged for a moment, before Sara pulled away and waved her hand around in a dramatic fashion. " _Dum dum dadum_ ," she sang.

Eli gasped and grabbed her friend's hand, staring at the plain ring on it. "Did you…"

"It's just an engagement ring," the tall man next to her said with a smile. He had a long face and the most beautiful amber-colored hair, one curl falling roguishly across his forehead. "I wanted to get her a diamond, but then we went to see the movie 'Blood Diamond' and…" He trailed off, grinning, and held out his hand. "Remy. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," she said, shaking his hand. "So, when's the big day?"

"Oh, don't worry, you'll be invited," Sara said, glancing at her watch. "Oh, shit, is that the time? Darling, we're late for the charity board meeting."

"I guess we're skipping coffee this morning," he said with a congenial roll of the eyes as Sara dragged him away. "Nice to meet you, Eli!"

"Nice to meet you too!" she called after their retreating figures. "Take care of her!"

"Will do!"

Eli smiled as she ordered her mochachino, then sat down on the squishy couch, the drink steaming and sweet in her hand. She pulled her laptop out of her bag.

Her phone rang just as the computer was starting up. She flipped it open and balanced it between her ear and shoulder. "Hey mom. No, I haven't taken the test yet…two hours still. Don't stress." She paused, then laughed. "Of course I'll be home this weekend, you think I'd forget your birthday. Your present…well, I'm not gonna say anything, but it's a doozy. Uh huh. You might want to wear diapers…you know, in case you wet yourself with excitement. That's _not_ gross, it's true." She laughed again as the voice on the other end chattered to her. "Ok, mom, love you. Oh! Is dad there? Tell him we'll go shooting while I'm home. Yep. And you're coming to the tournament in two weeks, right? Great. Ok. Ok, mom. I really gotta study. Yes, I'll call you as soon as the test is over. I love you too. I love you more. Bye."

Eli smiled to herself as she shut the phone and took a long sip of her steaming hot coffee. Classes, parents, complete and utter lack of a lovelife, good friends. Predictable. Boring. Just another day in the life of Elijah Grant, the girl nothing exciting ever happened to.

Outside, it began to snow.

 

 

**The End**

**To Be Continued In Book Four:**

**And I Feel Fine**

 

 


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